


A Model of Decorum and Tranquility

by bookwyrmling



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Chess, Chess Metaphors, Everyone makes bad choices, Getting Back Together, Homophobia, Inspired by the Musical Chess, M/M, Multi, Outing, Personal Growth, Social Media, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, they learn from them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: Kent Parson is the current world champion and the man who single-handedly put chess on the map. Eric Bittle is his second who doubles as an overworked PR manager for a man who leans hard into the public persona of childish party boy. Jack Zimmermann is the social media recluse and chess grandmaster known as Deep Blue. He's also the man who threatens to steal everything from Kent Parson—his fame, his title...and even his second! With the board set, how will these three handle the rising tensions and each other's plays?
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 26
Kudos: 47
Collections: OMGCP AU Bang 2019





	1. Prologue

**_A NEW GAMBIT_ **

_by Dustin Snow_

_Posted February 12th, 2019_

_The World Chess Federation has announced that the next World Championship will take place in the Hotel Aurora in Merano, Italy. The current World Champion, Kent Parson of the United States of America, will defend his title against Jack Zimmermann of Canada. The first player to achieve 6.5 points will be declared champion._

_The first game will begin on March 27 to an audience of 300 spectators, including some VIP seats. Tickets are expected to range from $150 to $500. Matches will also be broadcast live on the Federation’s website along with in-game analysis by professional commentators for a subscription fee and the Federation’s Twitter is expected to run live updates. Souvenirs will be available on-site and through the Federation’s website._

_The upcoming championship’s organizer and chess grandmaster, Georgia Martin, has expressed great excitement for the upcoming tournament. “With the general interest generated by Kent Parson’s personality and the skill of both competitors, we finally get to take this product fully to market,” Mrs. Martin claimed in a press conference yesterday. “We are basically opening this sport for business.”_

_Read Comments (124)_

* * *

Eric Bittle closed out of the article and returned to scrolling through his Twitter feed as he reached out and gave a sharp rap on the bathroom door. “Five minutes until I drag you out!” he shouted only to roll his eyes and pick up his peppermint latte as his warning went unanswered and, likely, unheeded.

He groaned into his cup as he scrolled through picture after picture of bad news and extra work before giving a sigh of surrender and turning the screen off. Phone shoved into his back pocket, Eric slipped into the hotel bathroom and coughed into the crook of his elbow at the heavy steam in the air before reaching out and flushing the toilet. Holding the handle down, he counted to three before the screaming began.

“Holy fucking shit! What the fuck?!” The curtain slammed open and against the wall unceremoniously and a wet, sudsy blonde rocketed out, shivering and cursing and, once he was free of the suddenly frigid water, glaring at Eric. “Seriously, Eric? What the fuck!”

“I gave you a five minute warning,” Eric argued, staring the other man’s glare down into a pout, “Now finish up and dry off or I will keep flushing.”

With a whine, a stamp of feet on the floor mat and a pouting glare back in Eric’s direction, Kent Parson reached out and slipped his hands back under the shower stream, confirming the water was once more warm. His eyes traced up Eric’s arm, starting from where his fingers still pressed threateningly at the toilet handle. They brushed along the crisp sleeve of his shirt and up to his shoulder, from his carefully tied red bowtie – “It’s a power color,” Eric had once told him when Kent had asked – down the line of buttons to a coffee-colored leather belt and pressed Dockers. His other hand sat on a popped hip and Kent followed that back up, smirking by the time he met Eric’s dark eyes once more. “You could join me and help keep me on track.”

Eric scoffed, rolled his eyes and immediately flushed the toilet again. Kent jumped away from the water before it could run cold and scowled. “I am already showered and dressed as I know how to manage my time like an adult-” Eric started, but Kent took immediate offense.

“I have a hangover!” he argued, “My head hurts. Be nice.”

“Well then,” Eric retorted, arms crossing over his chest. He clucked his tongue in disapproval at Kent’s red-rimmed eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone out last night partying and making all sorts of TMZ headlines.”

“You were right there with me!”

Eric shifted his weight to his other foot, popping his other hip and rolling his head to the side. “Trust me, there are pictures enough even if I didn’t remember,” he said. “But I do. And I am up and ready for work,” he added as he ran his eyes down Kent’s half-showered form with a snort of disappointment, “unlike somebody who needs to be.”

Kent scowled and covered himself at the insinuation in Eric’s actions and Eric put on his business smile and clapped his hands – the sound, muffled by the steam, still reverberated through the room and over the hiss of the shower. “Now,” he added in his media-friendly voice – the one that he used when he needed people to do as he said because damn if it did not always put the fear of God in those who heard it – “this steam is wrinkling my shirt and messing my hair and if I have to redo either, well then, Kent Parson, you do not want to know what my retribution will be.”

Kent gulped.

“So rinse off, dry off and get dressed. Now. You have fifteen minutes and a coffee waiting for you by the door.”

Kent was sitting in a cab, sunglasses on and sipping at his caramel macchiato, in twelve minutes.

They were still twenty minutes late.

Eric physically dragged Kent out of the cab the moment they made it to Central Park and was a bluster of apologies and greetings with one of his hands wrapped firmly around Kent’s wrist. Kent, on the other hand, sipped at his drink and smirked.

“It’s New York City, Eric,” he had waved off the younger man’s concern in the cab, “Everyone’s late and pretty regularly.”

“Well, I’m not,” Eric had argued.

“Technically…” Kent had teased before curling up in a corner with a chuckle to avoid the playful slap at his thigh.

Bitty had pointed his finger directly between his eyes, instead. “Rude, Kent Parson.”

But they were at the Chess and Checkers House now and the bungalow was surrounded by lights and reflectors, with staff rushing about preparing for the shoot. Shouted directions and flashes of light came tumbling from the deck and one of the assistants looked near tears when she greeted Eric and Kent with a, “Finally! The photographers doing individual shots with Mr. Zimmermann right now. Mr. Parson, if you’ll come with me to make-up, we can get you ready without too much delay.” She turns then to Eric. “Mr. Bittle?”

“Call me Eric, please,” he said with a warm smile that went, for the most part, unrecognized.

“There’s a small seating area set aside with coffee. You are more than welcome to make yourself at home there.”

One of the woman’s coworkers shouted at her from the deck and she sighed and pointed Kent to the small area set up for wardrobe and make-up before bowing out and rushing off.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how fast people do things here,” Eric commented as he watched her go.

“California is definitely more laid back,” Kent agreed as he finally tossed his Starbucks cup in the nearest trash bin, “Moving there was a nice change of pace.”

Eric snorted and shook his head, side-eyeing Kent’s shit-eating grin before squeezing Kent’s wrist, releasing his grip and reaching back to smack him on his rear. Kent jumped.

“Go sit your pretty ass down in make-up, so they can make you look like less of the hot mess the world knows you are,” he ordered with his own smirk.

Kent laughed and leaned into Eric’s space, wiggling his eyebrows. “Well, if they already kno-”

“I said go, Kent,” Eric immediately interrupted, though the laughter in his eyes negated any seriousness that could have been gleaned from the command. “You need it,” he continued, “Y’aren’t _that_ pretty.”

“I’m fucking gorgeous; don’t lie!” Kent retorted, but playfully saluted Eric all the same before tottering off with a yawn and a stretch.

* * *

Eric was glad for the coffee, as subpar as it tasted. While the hotel and cab had been warm, even in his winter coat Eric could feel the wind blow through his bones. He held the steaming cup up to his red and numbing nose and hummed as the warmth soaked through the waxed paper and into his hands.

“There’s a shop across the street. Coffee’s actually drinkable.”

Eric looked up from his drink to see a smirking woman join him with her own drink and a bagel. He stared at it, hungry and remembering he’d had no more than a Starbucks for breakfast, before shaking his head. “It’s for the heat more than the taste,” he admitted with a small grin.

“Duan, Larissa,” the woman introduced herself around her bagel, which she had stuffed into her mouth in order to free a hand to reach out and greet Eric with. “Friends calls me Lardo.”

“Eric Bittle,” Eric replied, reaching out and taking her hand before gesturing to the bench across from him. “Everyone calls me Eric.”

Larissa winked and grabbed her bagel minus the large bite she had been holding in her mouth and took the offered seat.

“My friend, Shitty, will be joining us soon as he checks in on Jack,” Larissa added with a measured tone and studying gaze, “You’re with Parson, right?”

“I’m his second and manage his PR,” Eric concurred with a nod before shifting his fingers around the cup as he continued to try to warm them through the gloves he was wearing.

“Sweet; I’m Zimmermann’s second and Shitty’s his manager and a bar certified lawyer.”

“Um…” Bitty interrupted, his brows furrowed and his teeth troubling his bottom lip as he gathered the courage to ask, “Is Shitty...his name?”

Larissa snorted and Eric felt like an idiot.

“It’s his nickname,” she explained while he shifted awkwardly on the bench, setting the cup on the table before curling his fingers over the rim and into the dissipating steam, “His real name’s Brandon, after his grandfather, and he hates it.”

“And yet you still go around telling strangers.”

Eric turned from Larissa to find two men walking up to join them: the one who had spoken and another whose chess Eric was more familiar with than his face. Which was a shame, because as good as Jack Zimmermann’s chess was, his face, with high chiseled cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, was definitely worth knowing.

“He’s Parson’s second,” Larissa replied in between a sip of her drink—which was too hot, apparently, as she stuck her tongue out and winced—and another bite of her bagel. “He’s gonna learn it soon enough.”

Shitty said something else after that, but it went in one of Eric’s ears and out the other as Jack turned a sharp look on him. Eric could feel the judgment, but smiled through it as he stood up and held one of his gloved hands out.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zimmermann,” he greeted, hand still held out as Jack stared at it, pushing Eric’s smile to it’s breaking point, “My name is Eric Bittle and I’m Kent Parson’s second and PR manager, of sorts. I do apologize for the delay this morning. New York traffic is not something we’re particularly used to.”

Finally, he took it and Eric sighed internally, his smile losing most of its edge through Jack’s own stilted introduction and a reminder that he and his employees had made it on-time despite being non-natives before Shitty—Brandon? Shitty?—jumped into the conversation.

“Was last night’s newsworthy endeavour really sanctioned, then?” he asked and Eric fit his media smile back into place.

“That’s why I said sort of,” he joked, “Kent’s not the one to be controlled. Working with him is very much like wrangling kittens.”

“You mean like that cat he’s always posting about?” Shitty guffawed.

Eric shook his head. “Oh no,” he corrected, “Purrs is far more reasonable.”

Jack coughed and Eric looked his way and hoped he was reading entertainment in the man’s eyes.

“So he lives like he plays then,” Shitty continued with a smirk peeking out of sparkling eyes and beneath a mustache. “Jack and Lardo have been studying his games and cursing since the match was announced. Any helpful hints, Eric?”

With a snort, Eric raised an eyebrow at Shitty and shook his head. “What makes you think I’d go helping the enemy? I’m no Benedict Arnold.”

Shitty pouted with pursed lips and a “hmph!” and Eric rolled his eyes.

“Besides,” he added, turning back towards Jack, “Kent and I have been studying Mr. Zimmermann’s games just as long and, can I say, sir, that you have a very solid gameplay.”

“I’d need something to be able to manage this far,” Jack replied matter-of-factly before turning his attention back towards the activity centered around the shoot.

Eric’s smile finally cracked then as he decided Jack, for all he was highly attractive and absolutely brilliant at chess, was not the type of person he could get along with.

“I leave you on your own for fifteen minutes and come back to find you giving away all my secrets? Eric…”

Before Eric could decide whether to argue or ignore Jack’s clearly pointed statement, he was interrupted. Looking around Jack’s broad shoulders, he could see Kent’s smirk in place. The media smirk, the bad boy smirk. It was the Kent Parson smirk and it was copyrighted, at least according to the media who loved to use it as a comparison.

And it always meant trouble for Eric.

“Kent Parson!” Shitty greeted with his own crooked smile, “Be proud of your man here. He doesn’t give an inch.”

“Yeah, well, it’s good to have someone dependable by your side,” Kent replied while sending a glance at Jack. “Heya, Zimms. Didja miss me?”

When Eric had first met Jack, he had thought the man stiff, but now? Now, Jack Zimmermann creaked with each movement, his spine a steel rod that grew out of his slouch as his chest and shoulders expanded. It reminded Eric of those animal documentaries where they’d puff up to scare a competitor off. “Parson,” Jack spoke and his voice sent Eric reaching for his mostly-cooled coffee cup once more, “I see you haven’t changed.”

Jack was not the only one to have grown suddenly very uncomfortable. While the day had started off as one of those cold, wintry ones where the sky feels higher up than usual, everything felt too close now that Jack and Kent refused to break eye contact and the force of whatever it was between them dragged the sky to within touching distance. If Eric just stood on his toes and reached up, he knew his fingertips would brush it. Instead, he sent wild glances at Shitty, whose eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline, and Larissa, who looked...mostly nonplussed.

“I told you, Jack, it’s about making a brand,” Kent continued, walking straight into Jack’s personal space, “You get nowhere if no one remembers you, no matter your skill.” He pulled a hand from his pocket and rapped his knuckles against Jack’s chest. “Your dad taught me that.”

Jack shoved his hand away and glared down, imposing and large and Eric held his breath and begged his courage to let him break this apart before it came to blows. “This is chess, not hockey,” Jack said, instead, and Kent snorted.

“And yet, who’s the one between us who revitalized chess?” Kent asked, smirk still fully in place even if his hand retreated back to his pocket, “Who’s the World Champion?” He let the silence sit for a few seconds before chuckling, taking a step back and shrugging. “Photographer wants us both,” he said and Eric thought Kent might actually behave for the two seconds before challenging grey eyes stared back up at Jack and that hand from earlier reached out once more to smack him on the arm. “Try to smile and relax, yeah?” he grinned, “Don’t need to be stuck here all day with my second turning into a popsicle just because Deep Blue can’t figure out how to look like a real boy.”

Jack did not reply. Instead, he shoved past Kent, spared yet another judging glare at Eric, and stalked off.

“Kent…” Eric complained, rubbing at his forehead where he could already feel the headache starting, but the man did not even spare him a glance, following directly after Jack, smirk still firmly in place. Eric was certain that if this shoot went long, it would one hundred percent be Kent Parson’s fault.

With a sigh, Eric looked back over to Larissa and Shitty. Larissa was eyeing him and he could feel the questions like barbs, while Shitty seemed ready to stomp right after Kent and continue the fight Kent had been trying to pick with Jack. Larissa’s white-knuckled grip around his forearm seemed to be the only leash holding him back and Eric was suddenly reminded that Shitty was a lawyer.

“He’s, uh…” Eric began, holding his hands out in a plea for understanding, “got that real competitive spirit to him. Y’know?” It felt flat to his ears, too.


	2. Act I

It was March 26, 2019, in Merano, Italy. The entire town was preparing for the competition about to take place and Eric wished he could just get Kent to focus.

“Why is there so much German for a town that’s supposed to be in Italy?”

They had just arrived and were making their way down the street to the hotel hosting the competition where their luggage and rooms would be waiting for them thanks to Kent deciding he could not sit any longer and would walk the last two miles. Eric understood. After the flight from LA to Newark, the flight from Newark to Munich, and then the flight from Munich to Verona which was followed by the car ride into Merano, he was going a bit stir crazy, as well. That didn’t mean he had approved of Kent throwing the town car’s door open at a stoplight and jumping out into the middle of the street.

Eric watched Kent wander through the crowds—signing autographs when asked, but, more often than not, being a nuisance, holding up traffic and flirting. Eric sighed and unlocked his phone. “According to Wikipedia, South Tyrol, which Merano is a part of, used to be part of Austria...and apparently Austrians speak German,” he read out before grabbing Kent by his elbow and attempting to herd him along, “For now, though, we have to check into the hotel before the meet and gr-”

“Oh man, that person back there said Merano is famous for their hot springs and vineyards,” Kent interrupted, not showing one lick of interest in the schedule Eric had so painstakingly crafted for them. “Eric, we gotta try.”

“We have some scheduled downtime and I’m sure our hotel will be able to direct us to a nice place to relax,” Eric promised, thumbing through the emails he had received during the long flight from New York “but first we have to-”

Kent tore out of Eric’s hold and rushed off. “This place is seriously worth the trip, though. I mean, look at this view, huh, Bits?”

“I didn’t think you’d be one for enjoying the mountains so much, Kent,” Eric teased the man well known for being a city boy, born and bred, before looking up from his phone in exasperation only to see Kent posing and smirking next to a wall advertisement with his face plastered all over it.

Of course.

“Mountains shmountains,” Kent waved off, “I’m putting this place on the map.” He took a selfie of himself in front of the advertisement and grinned at Eric. “Purrs would be so proud.”

Eric rolled his eyes when his phone chirped, letting him know Kent had, indeed, posted the selfie to his Twitter. “Purrs is a cat,” he reminded the taller male, “The only reason he’d care about you playing chess is it gives him more toys to knock under the sofa.”

“That is rude to both me and Purrs,” Kent pointed out with a frown as he tapped at his phone. Eric’s phone pinged with the notification of another post and Eric sighed before grabbing Kent’s elbow and steering him back in the direction of the hotel.

“Troy said he looked out of curiosity and the bets for the match are getting crazy,” Kent said a block later. “Who’da thunk the mob had such sophisticated sporting tastes,” he added with a grin and eyebrow waggle.

“Lord,” Eric groaned, closing his eyes for a moment and searching for patience. “First of all: no discussing organized crime. Second of all: no discussing organized crime,” he laid down as rules, “Can you guess what comes next?”

“No placing illegal bets on myself?”

“Kent!”

“I didn’t!” Kent promised, raising his arms in innocence at the heart attack he had nearly caused. “Anyway,” he added in a much more sombre tone, his brow furrowed and the muscles in the arm Eric still led him down the street with tense, “People who do that shit? They’ll show up anywhere there’s money. Not like they care about the game and I’m only important so long as I make things interesting. I know that.”

The hotel was in sight now, but Eric stopped them both, studying Kent with a concerned frown until the other man shot him a smirk. “Just means I get to have more fun with it,” he said before laughing, “I mean, just imagine me as stiff as Zimmermann. There’s no way the tournament would be sold out!”

Eric smiled, rolled his eyes and laughed along. “Keep selling tickets and you can get away with breaking the rules, more like. Even if it makes more work for me?”

“If I didn’t keep you busy, would you really stick around?” Kent asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk and Eric grinned in reply before shaking his head and dragging Kent the last two blocks and into the hotel.

After grabbing their keys and being assured a bellman had already taken their luggage to the assigned suite, Eric grabbed one of every newspaper the hotel had displayed, slapping a tip on the counter as he buried his face into the first one and hoping it was appropriate because he had no clue how the exchange rate compared or if Italy was one of those countries where you weren’t supposed to actually tip.

“I never knew you were one for newspapers,” Kent ribbed when the elevator doors closed before grabbing the one from the bottom of the pile in curiosity only to find it was in French, “Can you even read them all?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eric waved off as he pulled out his phone and ran Google translate over an article, “If they’re talking about you, I have to know what they’re saying.”

“Then what do they say about me? Are they calling me a shit?”

“Not in so many words, but…” Eric confirmed as he tossed the Times at Kent before grabbing the French newspaper from him and holding up his phone.

Kent perused the article Eric had folded the page to show and snorted. “I thrive on unpleasantness?”

“According to Eel Mondo, here, you also, uh...la vergo-na dell sco—you’re the shame of chess,” Eric added as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened on their floor.

“If they love to hate me, it’s still money for us,” Kent shrugged as he snatched the key out of Eric’s hand and began checking the door numbers for their own, “Besides, it’s not my problem if they can’t see the genius of my game. If it weren’t for this ‘shame of chess,’ this tournament would have gone without anyone paying attention to it.”

Kent stopped in front of their door, but reached out and grabbed onto the back of Eric’s shirt as the other man continued walking while reading the poor translations his phone was giving him on another newspaper. At the jerk that came with hitting his suddenly very short chain, Eric looked up at Kent with owlish eyes before Kent jerked his head towards the door.

“Oh…” Eric realized. Kent rolled his eyes but let the both of them in.

“So what does Die Welt have to say about me, then?” Kent asked, closing the door behind him.

Eric looked back down at the German paper in his hands. “I’m not even going to try and pronounce this, but they called you ‘the wild boy of chess’ and I can’t argue with that one at all,” he said with a wave of the paper before dropping the pile on the table near the entryway.

Kent had to shrug because Eric was right. That was the truth. Especially in comparison to his stuffy, old-fashioned peers.

“And what do they have to say about Deep Blue?”

Eric froze mid-step and Kent continued past him and over to where their luggage was set up on racks. “Jack Zimmermann,” Eric said forcefully while glaring at the back of Kent’s head, “when he’s brought up, is noted as polite and intelligent, if a bit perfunctory.” He walked up to his own luggage, pulling out his suits to pass over to the concierge for steaming and his shoes for shining.

Kent snorted and grabbed his tablet out of his carry-on before flopping onto the couch in the living room. “That’s because he’s a fucking chess robot,” he argued, waiting for the item to power on so he could bury himself in games to prepare for the first day of the tournament tomorrow. While it booted up, he turned back to the copy of Le Monde he’d grabbed out of Eric’s hands earlier, “The news talks about you more than it does him and he’s my competitor.”

Eric blinked from where he stood, pulling Kent’s suits out to hang with his. “What does a French newspaper have to say about me?”

Kent looked up from his tablet before smirking and setting it down for the newspaper. “Eric Bittle, petite Georgia-born personal assistant and second,” he began and, interested, Eric walked over behind Kent to look over his shoulder even if he couldn’t read the language, “A true southern Gentleman—if only they knew!”

“I am nothing but a gentleman with you, Kenny,” Eric took offense, digging his fingers into Kent’s hair and giving just enough enough of a tug to make Kent’s face go slack and his shoulders loosen as he rolled his head back enough to send a heated look back at Eric. “Finish reading,” Eric prompted and Kent sulked but turned back to Le Monde all the same.

“He stands by his champion,” he continued, sending a smirk backwards until Eric raised an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes before continuing to translate, his proud tone and smirk failing as he continued to speak, “...despite his infantile behavior and party-boy persona…”

Kent frisbeed the paper across the living room, pages flying out in all directions once it hit a chair.

“If you don’t like what they have to say, Kent, that’s on you. I help with PR, but there’s only so much I can do to mitigate the damage some of your actions do,” Eric pointed out with a pat on both of Kent’s shoulders, “They don’t say that stuff about Jack. If you just worked with them—”

“And like I said, they barely even talk about Zimmermann,” Kent argued as Eric walked across the room, “Being a little wild or—or—”

“Infantile?” Eric supplied as he shuffled the papers back together and set them on the coffee table.

Kent glared.

“That’s just some old dude being an ass,” he folded his arms over his chest and shrugged, “Being this way is my brand at this point. People know me because of it, not because of my chess. People know chess because of it, even! The sponsors eat it up—you know it. Even the advertisements for this tournament played up how relatable I was for young adults to draw in a new audience. I’m not gonna go changing it around now.”

Eric pursed his lips, holding back the arguments that he didn’t have to play it up so much for the attention, either, but instead he plopped onto the sofa beside Kent, picked up the tablet and leaned against Kent so they could go through the game together. “Just...for the press conference tonight...try being a bit less antagonistic to the press and Jack? Please?” he asked once before pulling up the chess database and opening one of Jack’s games for them to dig into and tear apart.

Kent might not have agreed, but he didn’t argue, either, and Eric smiled at his success.

* * *

Eric was not smiling now.

“What do you have to say about the constant abuse you’ve been spouting about your opponent?”

“Can machines really be abused?” Kent shot back with a roll of his eyes and Eric’s shoulders drooped.

“But even you must admit he can play,” another reporter shot out.

“Sure,” Kent shrugged, “Even the original Deep Blue managed to win a few games.”

“He hasn’t lost for quite a while,” a third reporter called out and Eric sighed in relief because at least this one did not seem to be on the attack, “he could be a tough opponent.”

“Listen, if he gets one game off me, it’s because I wanted to give you lot something productive to do.” And Eric, standing in the corner, groaned and hid his face in his hands because even when he wasn’t being attacked, Kent still felt the need to fight back. “I’m the reason you’re all here. Who’d even heard of Zimmermann before this? Do any of you have any serious questions? Because, so far, this is all a fucking joke.”

Eric hoped with everything within him that none of these interviews were live and reminded himself to discuss the importance of language in front of the press with Kent once again.

A reporter near the back of the crowd raised her hand and Kent nodded his head in the woman’s direction.

“Does any of your behavior since the match’s announcement have to do with your shared history with Mr. Zimmermann?”

Kent’s spine stiffened even faster than Eric’s at that question as he zeroed in on the smirking reporter who had asked it. “What?” Kent hissed, shoulders bunching up defensively around his ears. Eric watched the interplay with wide eyes and curiosity. Kent had mentioned sharing a teacher with Zimmermann when they were children, but for such a strong reaction there had to be more to it.

“Jack Zimmermann was quite the prodigy as a child and yet disappeared off the face of the board in his early teen years,” the reporter continued to press, refusing to take the obvious hint that Kent was not appreciating this line of questioning, “You shared a teacher with him then, would you mind telling us what happened?”

“Next. Question,” Kent ground out through a clenched jaw and Eric sighed and looked away from the group. So that was all the reporter knew. She must be trying to stir up trouble where there was none to be found. Maybe simply trying to find a new angle to spin this match with. After all, chess might have a new-found following, but it still was no baseball or soccer. At least Eric hoped the gossip rags hadn’t followed them here.

As if specifically speaking to dash Eric’s hopes, a man in the middle of the group shoved forward and pushed a camera right into Kent’s face and asked, “How come your second isn’t even ranked as a Candidate Master? Could your lack of a proper assistant be affecting your game?”

Eric’s eyes widened at the sudden feel of an emotional kick to the chest and he immediately sought out Kent’s face. Kent was not looking at him, though. Kent was looking at the reporter with cold disgust.

“Say that again,” he dared and Eric could easily imagine his clenched fists with carefully manicured nails digging into his palms, his lips pressing together until they had lost all their plump color. Kent did not get this angry often, but it was always memorable—and newsworthy—when he did.

The reporter knew it. Eric could see it in the gleam of his eye and the turn of his smirk as he met the challenge and asked, “Did you hire him for non-professional reasons?”

“Kent!”

Eric’s voice sounded clear and loud over the gasps of the media as Kent raised a clenched fist, even if Eric was certain it would be drowned out by the rushing sound in his ears. It was one thing to read about the rumors surrounding him and Kent. It was another to have his ability to do his job questioned because of them right before his own eyes. But the last thing either of them needed was for Kent to end up on primetime news for decking a journalist, so Eric forced his own nauseating panic down to stare Kent into submission. He ground his teeth before dropping his fist and shoving through the small crowd of reporters, rushing past Eric and towards the elevator.

Like a shark after blood, the press followed, questions pouring from their mouths and flooding the hall.

“Bittle, has he ever acted violent with you?” one man asked as a group shoved microphones and cameras and lights in his face. Eric blinked before backing away to regain some semblance of personal space and prevent anyone else from circling around behind him.

“Be proud of yourselves,” he huffed as he followed Kent’s lead, “Y’all got your exclusive.”

“Mr. Parson, how do you expect to retain your title with such a volatile frame of mind?”

“Eric, do you have any response to the earlier reporter’s targeted questions?”

“Mr. Parson, will you be quitting if you lose?”

From inside the elevator, his arms stretched across to block entrance and Kent hunched against the blind corner out of sight, Eric stood his ground. “This interview is over,” he pointed out to the ravenous reporters. The door slid shut, locking the media’s rabble outside. The elevator jarred beneath Kent and Eric’s feet before taking them both out of reach and to momentary safety.

* * *

“Dude’s off his rocker.”

Jack looked up from the chessboard to where Shitty was watching clips of Kent Parson’s most recent interview where he had nearly attacked a reporter, shoving him down as he ran off instead. “Really, Shits? I would’ve expected you to be on Parson’s side for this.”

“Like, don’t get me wrong,” Shitty turned around to Jack and rebutted, “That reporter deserved to be punched and I’d do it myself given the chance, but the entire interview was a mess. Parson’s all over the place.”

“Which is exactly the problem,” Jack pointed out in a huff as he crossed his arms and dropped his attention once more to the chessboard, moving his knight before sighing and putting it back, “His moves are impossible to read, both in life and on the chessboard, which is what makes him such a dangerous and difficult opponent.”

“But that spontaneity loses its effectiveness when he can’t follow through with anything and all you have to do is turn on TMZ to see how much of a mess the man’s life is,” Shitty argued as he took the opposing seat and stared blankly at the chessboard before moving one of his pawns and accidentally placing his own king in check.

Jack heaved a sigh before reaching out and firmly moving the pawn back into its original place, glaring at Shitty all the while. “I’ll believe what I see and know and, right now, Kent Parson is the World Champion; the man who single-handedly revived chess. We would not be here right now—chess would not hold near so much of the attention it currently does—if he wasn’t who he is.”

“I’m not saying underestimate the guy, Jack, just—”

“If you want me to win tomorrow, call Lardo in.”

Jack’s shoulders were hunched over, his eyes on the board as he tugged at his lip with one hand in thought, no longer paying any attention to Shitty, who shrugged and sighed before standing up.

“Jackabelle, you know we’re all here rooting for you,” Shitty said as he grabbed his phone and shot off a text, “I don’t know exactly what’s going on between you and Parson, but, dude, we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want to help. I can do more than just turn reporters away, you know.”

Jack did not reply and Shitty left in search of a balcony and a hit.

Back inside the room, alone, Jack’s shoulders lowered from around his ears and his fisted hands under the table loosened before he buried his face in them.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a prince.

From a young age, he knew he was destined for greatness, for he knew that, one day, he would inherit the kingdom of his father.

But the prince also had a secret. He was scared of failure; terrified of it. So completely frightened of not being as good a king as his father that he would stay up every night braced with the fear of mediocrity.

So the prince took medicine for his anxiety, sought aid from a therapist, spoke with his parents and found his own interest separate from either of them.

An interest that grew into a passion as his skill grew exponentially and the prince decided he would build his own kingdom: a kingdom where everyone knew he was king in his own right—not because of his father.

* * *

Jack Zimmermann’s growth and development in chess had not been easy despite being outside of his parents’ shadows.

The game itself was of great interest to him and he could spend hours pouring over game records and theory, but he had never done well with everything that came with having his name recognized or his life and career followed. As a child, the media had picked his hockey apart in light of his father and picked his appearance apart in light of his mother. When he quit his father’s sport, they reported he never would have matched up to his name anyway. When word of his anxiety got out, they called him weak. They called him fat, as well as lazy, and wondered how both a professional athlete and model could let their child sink to such an unhealthy lifestyle.

The world of chess had been an escape until he started making waves there, as well.

Jack Zimmermann had never planned on competing in chess when he picked it up. His therapist had played and taught him the basics during meetings. Having something to focus on broke up the stress of the appointments. The logic and strategy required of each move pulled him out of anxiety and away from the ledge of meltdowns. He’d run his fingers along the carved pieces and stare at the board while answering questions about his week or his most recent panic attack.

His parents bought a board for him and learned how to play, as well, but it had not been long before he outpaced them both, his interest turning single-minded as he devoured books on the subject. He played in the park on weekends, learning moves and strategies his books had never discussed and then one of the women he’d played—a graduate student whose grandfather had raised her on the game—had said he was good enough to compete.

With competition came a teacher and with victories came interest from other competitors. Jack had thought they were friends. True friends, unlike the hockey kids whose parents had cursed him and whom had whispered things about him behind his back but smiled to his face and in front of his father.

It had been a lie. Jack had learned that the hard way as they grasped onto weaknesses and flaunted them in front of him in competitions.

So Jack had crushed them.

All of them, one by one, as they proved themselves the traitors they were. All of them, save one, his mind felt the need to remind him as he thought on tomorrow’s opponent.

And the voice in his head that had tormented him about hockey had once again turned the volume from a whisper to a murmur. A constant stream of what-ifs and failure right underneath the calm veneer of competition and practiced mental fortitude until the skeleton frame had cracked when Kent Parson attained Master status.

But none of that mattered now, Jack reminded himself as he peeked back out from behind his hands at the chessboard before him. He had stumbled, he had fallen, but he had stood back up each and every time and now he was here: Chess Grandmaster, competing for the title of World Champion. His crown was within sight, within reach. Maybe even tomorrow he would claim it, standing on top of it all.

 _And then what?_ the voice in the back of his mind questioned.

Jack’s heart pounded and his breath quickened. When all this ended...when he won this match, when he went home and the small media circus that followed the chess circuit calmed, then what?

There would be next year, and the year after if he could manage to stay on top, but what did his victory mean, then? When he spent it constantly running, watching his back, trying to talk himself down from the terror and paranoia of which challengers might be aiming for him. When, as soon as he lost, he went home and lived once more in this limbo between his parents’ fame and his own failure.

A knock sounded on the suite’s door before it opened and Lardo stepped in.

Jack sent a hollow glance up at her before dropping his gaze back to the chessboard and picking at his lip.

“How about a game between us?” Lardo asked after sitting down, “No Kent Parson.”

She began resetting the white pieces on her side of the board when Jack did not say anything and, with her final pawn in place, Jack began to do the same with the black.

“E4,” Lardo called as she moved her first piece and the game began.

* * *

“Good morning and welcome to Day 1 of the World Chess Championship hosted here in beautiful Merano, Italy and sponsored by Socar, Tata Steel, The Boring Company and more,” the announcer greeted the crowd and camera for those watching the online stream. “Today we will watch the World Champion, Grandmaster Kent Parson, attempt to maintain a hold of his title against challenger, Grandmaster Jack Zimmermann. And for those of you who have kept up with this morning’s breaking news, this match promises to be quite the spectacle. Imagine all the nuance we would have missed if we hadn’t found out the truth to our two competitors’ shared history! Considering this is the first time they have played each other in years, we have to wonder what this will mean for how they play.” Doors on opposite sides of the small banquet room opened simultaneously as the two players were ushered in and reminded to pace themselves with each other so as to arrive at the table at the same time.

Kent shrugged the direction off and stormed up to the table, sneering straight across the room at Jack and trying to ignore the queasy feeling in his gut at the asshole announcer’s comments. Jack glared right back and neither man offered their hand or took a seat. Eric, Shitty and Larissa eyed each other with as much distrust as Jack and Kent did—though, admittedly, without the same animosity.

“Eric, it’s been a long few months,” Shitty greeted as he held out a hand.

“Busy, all around, I’m sure,” Eric replied with a firm grip and a media smile before offering a hand to Larissa, as well. “Larissa.”

Larissa shook hands, but seemed less inclined to speak this morning than she had two months ago in New York.

“May the best man win,” Eric said, instead, once his hands were both his own again, “Either way, this will be a match to see.”

Jack and Kent continued to glare.

Over by the camera, the announcer continued to speak, “I am Chad Schodek of the Youtube channel King’s Bishop—check it out if you like thorough breakdown and analysis of professional chess games—and will be commentating just out of hearing distance of our competitors for our online viewers and any present who would like to rent a headset from the table in the back,” the man continued, “Don’t forget to check out the merchandise available, either. For those who could not make it to the competition and are streaming this on the Chess Federation’s website, there is an online store with limited edition items that will only be available for the duration of the Championship. You should be able to see a link just to the side of the screen for it. For my subscribers watching this on my channel, the link should be popping up somewhere on my screen right about now.”

Next to the camera, a stylish middle-aged man fiddled with his cufflinks and eyed the younger announcer.

“And now that our competitors have found their places and housekeeping is done with,” Chad continued with a nod and a smile at the man, “I will pass the honor of your attention over to the President of the World Chess Federation and arbiter of this match, Grandmaster Randall Robinson.”

“Thank you, Mr. Schodek,” the man spoke as he joined the ring that had been created in the center of the room. He shook the announcer’s hand and the hands of both competitors, as well as Shitty, Larissa and Eric. Only then did he turn and give a bow of his head in greeting to the attendants.

“And thank you very much to our viewers both in-person and online today. Chess would not be where it is today without you—players amateur and professional alike. My name is Randall Robinson, though any of you from the chess circuit would more likely know me as Thirdy. I am, as our announcer has introduced, President of the World Chess Federation, which is hosting today’s competition. I have also taken on the position of arbiter to promote fairness in the match. Any questions on the rules will come to me for the final decision. Over the next few days, we will play consecutive games until one of our competitors has won six and a half points and the title of World Champion.”

“Gentlemen,” he continued, turning to Jack and Kent with white teeth flashing a welcoming smile, “In light of what has occurred this morning—very likely without either of your knowledge or consent, I would like to remind you that chess may be dependent on its fans and players, but it is also much more than that. I hope to see a clean, decorated game from the both of you. Please have a seat and begin as you like.”

_It was one of those mornings when you woke up and the world had shifted under your feet, or so Kent had decided that morning, thirty minutes after his alarm had gone off and Eric had finished its job by shoving him under the shower._

_Kent had gone to sleep alone last night after a fight about the press conference with Eric, who had stayed up to do damage control. The blanket still crunched up on one side of the sofa when Kent got out of the shower and stepped into the living room told him Eric had never made it to bed at all. Kent continued to towel at his hair, his gaze slipping away from the blanket as a heavy despondence settled on his chest._

_“Now that you’re a bit more awake,” Eric said after stepping out of the suite’s second bathroom with his toothbrush and their toothpaste Kent had been unable to find earlier, “We need to talk.”_

_Kent shook his head. “I’m done fighting about yesterday,” he disagreed._

_Eric’s tense frown relaxed into something much more neutral as he said, “This isn’t about yesterday.” He had dark circles under his eyes. Kent’s attention slipped back to the blanket and he wondered if Eric had even slept at all last night._

_“Kent, sit down,” Eric continued, nodding his head at the sofa._

_Kent picked up the blanket and sat where it had been placed, holding the fabric on his lap and rubbing his fingers against the knit. Eric sat down next to him and opened up his laptop, tapping at the trackpad to wake it up. He turned the screen and the article on it towards Kent and asked, “I need you to be completely honest with me. How much of this article is true?”_

The room was near silent and yet so full it was hard to breathe. Shitty cleared his throat and Eric felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

Jack jiggled his leg and placed a finger on his bishop before switching to his knight, moving it to E4 and taking one of Kent’s pawns.

Larissa’s lips slipped into a frown fifteen minutes later when Kent moved his rook into check.

_Kent finished skimming the article with a hand covering his mouth, brows furrowed and glare intent on the screen. He dropped his face and admitted an unwilling, “Most.”_

_Eric rubbed at his eyes and sighed and closed the laptop. “It came out last night, which means the press might poke at it, given the chance, today. Are you going to be okay facing him?”_

_Kent rolled his eyes and snorted. “I don’t let personal shit interrupt my game. Especially not ancient history.” He wouldn’t look Eric in the eye, however, so Eric sighed again in defeat._

_“Just wanted to make sure,” he said, hoping Kent could at least manage to keep a calm mask in place even if the article did strike a chord._

_“Yeah, well, I’m telling you it’s fine.”_

The chess board and all 32 pieces went flying.

Jack’s eyes went wide as he threw his body backwards from where he’d been leaning nearly half-way over the table. The audience gasped and Kent stormed off amidst the flashes of cameras and Chad shouting what had happened into the camera from half-way out of his seat.

Eric buried his face in his hands.

* * *

“Hey, Arbiter, we have a complaint to lodge,” Shitty growled as he stalked up to Thirdy in the mostly-empty side room Jack and his associates, along with Eric, had been adjourned to. “Pretty sure walking off in the middle of a match is not allowed in the rulebook, unless the competitor’s got a different edition.”

“Considering how non-plussed you appear to be about the article, I have to wonder if it was even a surprise for you,” Eric cut in, sizing Shitty up and meeting his glare with a side-eye of his own. “A shock like that could certainly be one way to throw a competitor off their game. Is it so hard to believe it had Kent high strung as it was?” He scoffed. “But this is all just a plan for you, isn’t it? Put the blame on us?”

Shitty’s mouth wasn’t visible beneath his moustache but his frustration showed all the same as he ground his jaw. “Jack’s as much a victim in this,” he pointed out, “I’d think you’d understand, considering—”

“—What? That I’m gay?” Eric asked, staring Shitty down and watching the man begin to second guess his words. “No straight boy, who’s never had to worry about his own safety, gets to tell me how I’m supposed to think or feel about any of this.”

“Gentlemen!” Thirdy interrupted with exasperation and a pinched brow, “Tensions were running very high this morning. Due to the extreme circumstances, we will put the match on hold until tomorrow morning, but both competitors better be in their seats at 9 sharp. Chess might not be anything without its players, but it is also more than them. Resolve this.”

As Thirdy left, the door shutting heavy behind him, Jack sighed and leveled a glare in Eric’s direction. “I had been giving Parson the benefit of the doubt before this,” he argued, “but now I have to wonder if the media’s right and he really is losing it.”

Eric frowned, working his jaw and hiding clenched fists in his crossed arms. “You’re a part of this, too,” he pointed out, “Is it really so hard to see why Kent is so emotional after having his privacy betrayed? Instead you turn around and say he’s going crazy?”

“That’s right,” Jack agreed, “He isn’t the only one who was outed by that article. And yet I am here, trying to play chess.”

“Your name isn’t the top-billed one here, either,” Eric pointed out, “Not that you don’t deserve to be here, clearly, but Kent’s the one everyone’s waiting to watch fall with baited breath.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief. He eyed Eric, giving him a once over before huffing. “I honestly don’t get why someone like you would get so caught up in him—”

“I choose to work with Kent,” Eric interrupted, his eyes flashing as he leaned in, closing a bit of the distance the arbiter had once maintained between them, “because I want to work with the best.”

Jack snorted and looked away. “Maybe you’ll actually get that chance one day.”

“Jack, let’s go. Shitty’s got this,” Larissa said, nudging the man with her elbow before leading the way to the door. Eric flinched when Jack stepped towards him, but the man continued right past him and out the door.

Larissa at least kept it from slamming again.

It was only when Shitty cleared his throat that Eric remembered the other man still in the room. He took a deep breath in and, while letting it out slowly, turned around to face him. “Mr. Knight, you most certainly do not have this,” he pointed out for the other party’s sake, “which is why it’s a good thing I’m here. The lodge at the summit’s supposed to be a peaceful and relaxing place. You get Jack there; I’ll get Kent there. They can talk over lunch, considering how early the day still is.”

Shitty grinned and agreed. “And then we’ll fix this.”

Eric frowned. “And then _I’ll_ fix this,” he corrected. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he was quick to pull it out to find a text from Kent asking where he was. “Have a good day, Mr. Knight,” he said before making his own exit, shooting a reply back at Kent to ask him where he was.

* * *

Kent was back in their hotel room, sipping at a glass of champagne. He set it down at Eric’s glare and asked, “Where’ve you been?”

Eric could feel his jaw clench as he walked into the room and stopped in front of Kent. “Isn’t that supposed to be my question? You said you wouldn’t let him get to you.”

“Deep Blue didn’t get to me,” Kent scoffed. He threw his head to the side and laughed at the suggestion.

Eric crossed his arms over his chest and doubled down in his glare. “That abandoned chess game says otherwise,” he pointed out and Kent turned to glare back at him.

Kent stood up, slow enough to warn Eric to step back, but fast enough to not allow for a full retreat. He only held a few inches on Eric, but he sneered down at Eric, making full use of each and every one of those inches all the same. “Some of us are a bit more focused on the long game.”

“Long game?” Eric threw his arms out in disbelief before letting them flop down to his sides, “Kent, you could have been disqualified. That would have been the end of _every_ game.”

Kent only smirked and turned back to the table the champagne bucket sat on, bottle buried in ice. He poured a glass of champagne for Eric and held it out. When Eric refused to take it, Kent sighed and set it down on the table. He rest his arms comfortingly on Eric’s. “They wouldn’t disqualify me,” he promised. “Ending the tournament here? Do you know how much money WCF would lose out on? How many people who bought tickets would complain and demand refunds? How much money they wouldn’t get from viewers? All the merchandise they bought that wouldn’t sell? Disqualifying me then would have been the worst decision they could have made from a business standpoint. Which is why they didn’t.”

Eric chewed at his lip and shrugged out of Kent’s hold. “But they could have,” he argued and shook his head, “And this little stunt doesn’t help your media image, either. You have sponsorships to worry about, not just the WCF.” Eric’s shoulders collapsed at the thought of the work he would have to put into making up for this once he got the games back on track.

“Au contraire, Eric,” Kent smirked and tapped a few quick buttons on his phone. Eric’s buzzed and Kent nodded to let Eric know to check the notification.

“What am I looking at?” Eric tapped at the link in Kent’s retweet but the hotel wi-fi was a little slow to load the page.

“It’s an article,” Kent smirked, “About how the Knight family, of which Jack Zimmermann’s lawyer is a part of, holds majority stock in the company that runs the newspaper that published that article.”

Eric balked. He stared up at Kent, eyes wide, “When I talked to them after you stormed out, they didn’t seem to—”

“Oh, there’s no way they knew,” Kent agreed with a self-satisfied smirk, “Majority stockholders like this wouldn’t involve themselves in daily runnings of one paper out of the many the company controls. But it sheds a new light on my reaction, right? Offers a bit of sympathy?”

Eric ground his jaw and bit at the inside of his cheek before sighing and admitting, “Alright, yes, that can definitely help.”

Kent pumped a fist. “I knew you’d see it my way!”

“But you’re still telling me you let this whole thing get to you,” Eric argued and Kent sighed before setting their champagne glasses down once more.

“I promise, Eric, it was a wholly calculated move on my part,” Kent argued, hands back at Eric’s arms, fingers trying to press him into stepping closer, into Kent’s hold and against his chest.

“You’re telling me you knew about this article going into the game?”

“Yes.”

Eric shuffled one step closer. “And that you planned on storming out and had already considered all the consequences?”

“Yes.”

Eric pressed a finger into Kent’s chest. “Including how angry I’d be with you?”

Kent took a small step forward this time, forcing Eric to pull his finger back. He rested his arms loosely around Eric’s back. “The rest of the day’s just for us, right? Me and you? A nice break. You can sleep since I know you didn’t last night. We can hit up a bakery for lunch? With the extra money I weaseled out of some of our sponsors? As in, this entire trip will be chump change with the extra cha-ching I just grabbed us.”

Eric groaned and pulled away.

“Is that a no?” Kent asked, confused, “Or are you just mad I said cha-ching instead of cash? ‘Cuz, trust me, I know how weird it sounded and I’m definitely never saying it again.”

“I really wish you’d tell me this sort of stuff before diving in headfirst,” Eric sighed and rubbed at his forehead, “It’s going to make things even harder this afternoon.”

“What’s this afternoon?”

Eric rolled his eyes and crossed his arms back over his chest. “After you stormed off, I had to cover for you with the arbiter and your opponent. We are all meeting at the Merano Mountain Inn to settle this and you and Jack are sitting down to finish your games tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

Kent stared at Eric with a face void of any reaction. The silence stretched out after Eric’s news until Kent blinked. He narrowed his eyes when he asked, “Jack?”

Eric heard the disgust in Kent’s voice and squared his shoulders, but waited for Kent to continue.

“So now it’s _Jack_? Become good friends while I was doing some business for us? Finally take his and his friends’ offer? Here I thought you’d be on my side.”

“Offer?” Eric asked in confusion.

Kent rolled his eyes but offered a clue: “New York photoshoot.”

Eric’s forehead wrinkled in thought before his eyes widened in disbelief. His face went pale. “You know I would _never_ —”

“Oh, do I?” Kent asked as he threw back the last of his champagne, clearing his throat from the burn of the bubbles, “I’m not so sure. Maybe we should go ask _Jack_.”

Eric’s face pinched into one of cold anger. “I have always been on your side, Kenny, but if it’s so hard to believe the person who’s stood beside you for five years, you’re welcome to ask Jack at your meeting with him.” His impersonal media smile slipped into place and an extra helping of southern sweetness slipped into his voice. “You’ve got two hours. And I know you plan on apologizing for your actions in the game, if not also for that tweet.”

Kent dropped his jaw. “All they have to do is deny it!” he argued, “Media will eat it right up! You know that as well as I do.” He clenched his jaw and pulled the champagne bottle out of the bucket, upending it and dumping its contents into the melting ice. He shook the last droplets out and set the bottle heavy on the table beside it. “Or is it just that you want to get all buddy-buddy with them that bad?” he asked with venom lacing each spat word, “What? I’m not enough for you anymore?”

Eric’s media face was on as strong as Kent had ever seen it. “If that were the case, it’d say a lot worse about you than me,” he said with his cloying smile and Kent gnashed his teeth. The smile fell away. “You watch yourself; you are skating on very thin ice, mister. I have stood by your side for years now, dealing with your shit and I am one more smart word away from leaving you to it.”

“I’m literally just doing business,” Kent argued, flinging one of his hands out in frustration, “Can we fucking….stop fighting now?”

“I’ll be happy to stop arguing with you when you stop lying to me,” Eric snipped, each word filled with southern condescension and aggravation. Eric’s mother would hate it, but mostly because she got angry the same way. “This is more than just business to you,” Eric pointed out, “Five years working together and I have not once seen business get you this riled up.”

Kent scoffed. “So if I get to poke at my asshole ex who cut me out of his life like cancer because he was jealous I hit grandmaster status first, who’s going to blame me?”

“Everyone!” Eric answered as if it were the most obvious thing, “If you have personal issues with Jack, leave them to personal interactions. It’s not that difficult.”

“The world eats this shit up, Eric! Gay drama? Being outed against my will? If I have to be outed like this, prove the rumors and guesses right, then why not make use of it?” Kent asked. He shook his head and lowered his voice from the angry shouting it had risen to. “Considering the bullshit articles say about you, don’t you want to twist everything around, too?” he argued, instead. “Make them pay for it? Come out on top?” He pleaded for Eric’s understanding because he knew it had to be there. But the longer Eric stared at him with disapproval etched into his demanding stare and pursed lips, the more Kent realized it was not coming. “Or would you rather crawl back into the closet in your parents house in Georgia?” he pointed out, instead, needing Eric to feel the suffocating pressure wrapping around his chest and throat, “Or the janitor’s closet in your junior high school?”

Eric stepped back, his face shocked and pale as if he’d received a physical blow. His hands shook as he wrapped them around his torso. He stared out the window along the wall behind Kent—it looked out on Merano’s cobbled streets and quaint buildings—and said, “You do not get to talk to me like that.”

It was a whisper yet held more finality than any of the heavy-handed demands or shouts since the moment Eric had walked into the hotel room.

“Shit—” Kent cursed. He reached out for Eric’s arm only to have Eric wrench himself away. “Eric, wait!” he called, but could only watch as Eric turned away and walked back out the door.

Kent’s phone pinged in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a text from Eric:

_2 hours_

_Merano Mtn Inn_

Kent’s lips curled in annoyance. That was Eric for you. Always the professional.

* * *

“Come on, Kent, don’t flake on me,” Eric muttered as he stood at the lodge window, eyes scanning the snowy view as he bit at his thumbnail, “Not again.”

When he failed to show as summoned, Eric sighed and dropped into a chair in front of a preset chessboard. A fire roared in the fireplace and Eric reached across the board to move a white pawn to d4, his fingers not quite willing to pull away. It was a quiet opening move and one he had always preferred—especially compared to Kent’s flashy strategies. Eric didn’t think there was anything wrong with a Queen’s Gambit. It was solid, time-tested. Even when he was playing against it, it was a move he could expect and work with. It was reliable.

Eric didn’t have too many other reliable things in his life anymore.

His parents only ever made sure he was alive now. His mother said they loved him and would be happy to have their little boy back whenever he felt like it. Eric knew the boy they missed was the one they lost when he came out to them and he had long since moved past the point of pretending.

His first boyfriend had cheated on him.

His stable job had downsized and he’d drawn the short stick.

His job with Kent had been a miracle find and Kent had been fun and casual. Eric had liked the idea of casual. Casual had made it seem like he couldn’t get hurt.

It wasn’t casual if he knew he wouldn’t leave even when it did hurt, but Kent wouldn't either, so at least they were on equal ground.

Eric pulled the pawn back to its starting position and moved its neighbor to e4.

A door opened and Eric turned to the front door only to see it still empty. The chair across from him pulled out and Jack Zimmermann sat across from him.

“Oh, I didn’t see you come in,” he said in surprise.

Jack shrugged and placed his finger on the white pawn in the middle of the board, drawing it back into line. “You seemed preoccupied with the board,” he explained. “Since we are still short a member, shall we play?” He pushed the pawn back to e4.

Eric blinked at Jack and then the board, at the black pieces lined up in front of him, soldiers prepared for war. His throat closed up on him and, below the table and out of sight, his hands shook.

“Kent shouldn’t be much longer,” he said with a wavering smile, “and I don’t play.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “You are his second, though?”

Eric didn’t reply.

“I know the media likes to talk…” Jack tested, “but I figured it was just rumors.”

“They are rumors,” Eric snapped before dropping his face in embarrassment. “I was hired rightfully for my position,” he explained, looking up once more, “I can play chess. I can play it well. I just can’t compete.” Eric looked down at the board and picked up one of his pawns. “I’m fine with computer matches,” he said as he twirled it in his fingers, “I’m fine with analyzing gameplay.” He set the piece back down in its spot. His hands returned to his lap. “I’ve known Kent for years, so I’m usually happy to play with him, but...the moment I sit down across a table from someone I don’t know, I choke up.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Well, stage fright—”

“It’s not stage fright,” Eric interrupted with a frustrated glare. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Lord, I wish it was just nerves.”

“Small kid like me?” he asked, looking back to Jack, “Playing chess and winning? Not interested in sports even though my daddy was the high school football coach?” Eric closed his eyes and shook his head. “Georgia ain’t that kind.” His hands moved back up on top of the table, fingers dancing along the grain of the wood, eyes following their every move. “Every time I sit across from an opponent, I remember…” Eric’s fingers paused, fingertips pressing against the surface until they went white all the way up his nail beds. “Well, I remember a lot,” he decided, “And I can’t focus. I end up throwing the game if I can even move my hands.” Eric shrugged. “So, no, I’m not ranked and I don’t compete. But I’m still a damn good second.”

The fire crackled and popped as a log broke apart.

Jack nodded and held his hand out to the chess board again. “Then for fun,” he said, “Forget about the competition. Let’s play a game, Bittle.”

Eric scoffed. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

Jack paused for a moment before trying again. “My name is Jack Zimmermann. Sometimes I can be a grade A asshole.” He shrugged and admitted, “That’s my own second’s phrasing...and my manager’s. My dad’s sometimes, too.”

Eric snorted and Jack asked again, “Want to play a no-stakes game of chess? We can stop if it gets to you.”

Eric pursed his lips before sighing and moving his king’s pawn to e5 to meet Jack’s attempt at the center.

Jack grinned and immediately played the king’s gambit. His normally stormy face smoothed out save for a deep groove in the middle of his brow and his blue eyes sparked. For the first time since Eric had met the man, he appeared to be enjoying the game. It made him look even better.

Eric’s heart picked up and he took a deep breath to keep his face flushing. The last thing he needed was for Jack to think he was flirting with him. Maybe. Eric looked up from the board to find Jack watching him intently and gave up all pretenses of remaining unflustered as his cheeks warmed. He took the gambit.

King’s bishop to c4 for another gambit.

Queen to h4. Check.

“You don’t think I’ll use this chance to gather data for Kent?” Eric asked with a grin as Jack frowned at the board leaning further over it and tugging at his lip.

Jack looked up in surprise then glanced around the room. “Is that why it’s just you and me up here?” he asked.

“No,” Eric quickly waved off, “I’m sure Kent’ll be here any minute.” Jack smirked and Eric realized it had been a joke.

Jack moved his king to f1.

Eric offered a counter-gambit of his own, moving his pawn to b5. Jack took it and Eric’s breath caught. He brought his hand up to his mouth to hide a smile and moved his king’s knight to f6.

“He’s about half an hour late,” Jack did admit after moving his king’s knight to f3.

Eric harrumphed as his attention slipped out the front window once more. “Yeah, well, punctual's never been a word in his dictionary,” he muttered to himself, annoyed at Kent now for the fight and for his tardiness for this meeting.

Eric protected his queen by moving her back to h6. "Or maybe he fell off a cliff on the way."

“Um?”

The moment he heard Jack’s concern, Eric’s eyes widened, his hands thrown out across the board in embarrassment. “Oh Lord, I mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” Jack cut through with a chagrined look, “I know Parson well enough and it wouldn’t be the worst outcome.”

Eric flushed because it was one thing for him to say out of annoyance and another to hear someone else say it about the man. But Kent had been beyond rude to Jack, so it wasn’t undeserved, even if it was exaggeration on both their sides. “He just…” Eric tried to explain, “Sometimes he can be so selfish and hurtful with his words.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Yeah.” He moved a pawn to d3.

The move pulled Eric back into the game and he moved his king’s knight to h5. Jack matched by bringing his to h4—perfect positioning for Eric to move his queen to g5, threatening both Jack’s bishop and knight. Jack grumbled at the move and looked over his options, tugging at his lip once again and mumbling to himself.

Jack finally moved his knight to f5 because if Eric was going to take one of his pieces, he’d have to sacrifice his queen to do it.

Eric took the moment to sigh and drop his head. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I really shouldn’t be complaining to you like this. Especially not considering…”

Jack blinked. “Considering what? That we’re two strangers enjoying a friendly game of chess?”

Eric laughed at that, but nodded in understanding. This was a moment for them alone. No competition, no status, no baggage. It was the most freeing thing Eric had felt in years.

He dropped his pawn to c6, threatening Jack’s bishop once more. The game continued, each taking their moves with careful consideration that ate more and more time off the clock and buried them in long moments of silence perforated by short mental breaks for Eric to loosen his hands and jaw while they chatted.

“It’s not that he’s all bad,” Eric argued as he sent his queen careening down the board to b2, “He’s usually just fine.”

Jack responded by moving his queen’s bishop to d6.

The move threatened Eric’s bishop and knight and, while Eric wasn’t making use of his knights in his play, he was making great use of his bishop combined with his queen. He couldn’t take the bishop out, however, without sacrificing a piece to Jack’s knight and putting himself in check.

Eric let out a frustrated huff. “Sometimes I just don’t know if he has a bee in his bonnet or if he’s the bee caught in someone’s bonnet, stinging away.” He ran his bishop down the board to g1, taking out Jack’s rook. Jack’s king could still grab his bishop, but a bishop stuck on black wasn’t much threat to a white king at the moment and Eric’s knight would be protected from Jack’s bishop by his rook’s presence.

“Um?” Jack asked, his brows furrowed and mouth pinched.

Eric blinked before snorting. “Southern colloquialism,” he waved Jack’s confusion off.

Jack moved a pawn to e5.

“I think I get it?”

Eric moved his queen to a1, taking Jack’s other rook and placing his king in check. “Anyway,” he promised as Jack moved his king out of check and back into territory held by white, “I really did mean to get the two of you to meet so we could put all this drama behind us and focus on the match.”

Eric frowned. While his incursions had gone well, Jack still owned the center of the board and it had not taken much to put his king out of reach with the current layout. He brought his knight into play, but Jack barely paid it any heed.

“I believe you,” he confirmed before moving Eric into check.

“Oh.” Eric blinked and moved his king to safety.

“You’ve worked professionally with us every step of the way,” Jack praised, “Even when Parson was making it hard on you.” He moved Eric back into check and Eric instantly used his knight to defend against Jack’s queen.

“Thank you,” he said primly once his heart began to calm down and his attention turned to the board once more.

Jack moved his bishop to e7 and smirked. “Also checkmate.”

“Shit,” Eric cursed, his frown dropping as he took the board in in full, wondering where else he could’ve gone.

“If you’d used your queen and taken my queen’s rook out at a1 instead of using your king’s bishop to take my king’s rook at g1 first, this game could’ve gone to you. I was holding my breath on that one,” Jack said, though they both knew it would not have been that easy. “You’re right,” Jack smiled at him, “You’re an amazing player.”

Eric flushed and kept his eyes on the board, his hands tapping at the edge of the table. “Clearly not enough to stand up to you.”

When he reached out to begin moving the pieces back into starting position, Jack reached out to still his hand. “No, it really could have gone either way,” he promised with a concerned frown before seeming to notice his hand holding Eric’s and pulling it back in surprise. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” he continued softly, studying his hand, “You’d go far if you could compete.”

Eric flushed and put the piece back where he’d grabbed it from. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Uh...yeah…”

Eric dared a glance up to find Jack’s focus on the board as he bit at his thumb, studying the pieces and placement, and sighed. Of course he was the only one flustered. He closed his eyes and shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Well, I don’t know about you, but a snowy mountain lodge puts me in the mood for hot chocolate,” he said decisively, pushing himself out of his chair.

Jack looked up from the board before jumping up, as well. “Oh, yeah, I’ll go—” he offered as he stepped away from the table—

“Oh, no, I brought it up!” Eric demurred—

And right into Eric’s path.

Eric yelped as they slammed into each other, wide eyes looking up to meet Jack’s as their hands held onto each other to stay up right.

Eric could feel his face growing more red with every second they kept staring at him.

“You really shouldn’t sell yourself short,” Jack impressed, seeming to have no problem staring at Eric with an almost unnatural calm. At least until he coughed and looked away. “With chess and with him.”

“I…” Eric said before realizing his words were all wound up with each other and his emotions and he did not have the peace of mind to separate all of them at the moment. “You’re the first person who’s ever made me think that might actually be the case,” he said, instead, breathless.

Jack’s hands tightened around his arms and Eric’s breath hitched and, from off to the side, Kent began an intrusive slow clap.

Eric jumped and tore himself away, turning to Kent and taking in the dark, angry glitter of his eyes. Before he could say anything, the moment Eric opened his mouth, Kent spoke out, instead. “I guess I don’t need to ask Jack when I have all the proof in front of me.”

Eric’s eyes widened as he raised his hands in some sort of denial or supplication or combination of the both. “Kent, I—”

“Do you really have something to say right now?” Kent snapped, his words cut short off his tongue, mouth pinched and glare sharp enough to cut. Eric flinched at how well Kent wielded it.

Jack stepped into their line of sight—not quite between them, but impossible to ignore. “Parson—” he started only to have Kent shove past him and grab onto Eric’s arm.

“Like I told Eric before I even knew about this meeting,” Kent said, “the situation already served its purpose.” He turned around enough to meet Jack’s gaze. “There’s nothing to resolve. Social media’s where I want it and two companies have increased their sponsorship.” Eric rolled his eyes and Kent shrugged and sighed, appearing nonchalant to anyone who did not know him, did not see his eyes zero-in to watch his calculated words land like bombs. “Technically one of them helps you, too, but it’s not like you need or care about that, right? Let’s just go back to playing chess tomorrow. You know, Zimms? Something you’re actually good at? Don’t start pretending you have emotions like a Real Boy now of all times.”

* * *

Back at the hotel, the moment the door closed behind them, Eric ran one of his hands through his hair. “Kent, I’m sorry,” he said, “Really.”

Beside him, Kent mirrored his frustration, giving an extra tug on his cowlick before stomping into the room and kicking his shoes off.

“Did you kiss him?” he asked.

Eric shook his head until he realized Kent was not looking at him, his hands clenched into fists. “No,” he promised, “And I wasn’t gonna. I wouldn’t have.”

Kent looked at him then. He glared and Eric folded his arms over his chest, his shoulders curling in.

“I swear.”

The glare disappeared but Kent still studied him for several seconds before sighing and collapsing onto the couch, his head dropping between his knees. A heavy silence filled the space between them and it was the first time in a long time it had seemed like such a wide gap.

It was terrifying and Eric could feel the anchors tugging loose between them, an abandoned boat the tides and currents and passing of time would soon wash away, never to be seen again.

Kent sighed again, or at least tried to, his breath choking short. “Not him, Eric,” he begged, not able to lift his head or his hands hanging limp off his knees, “If you’re going to leave me, you can do it for anyone but him.”

* * *

The next morning, Kent and Eric woke up and got ready in silence. It wasn’t the silence of I haven’t had my coffee yet or even I’m hungover and think I made bad choices but can’t quite remember. It was a mixture of years-long routine and not having anything to say to each other but too much that needed to be said. It stretched around the hotel suite, squeezing at the space, tugging at the windows and walls and their very flesh and bones and breaths until they escaped to the media and the competition where they could talk to everybody but each other.

It was a silent agreement. They would figure everything out after the tournament was decided.

The pomp from yesterday was skipped over for the sake of time. Jack and Kent met at the board, already set to where it was when yesterday’s match exploded. Shitty looked exhausted and was glaring at Eric and Eric looked away when he remembered the article Kent had retweeted. Lardo studied him like he was the rosetta stone and would reveal all his secrets if she just watched him long enough.

Eric kept his eyes on the board and watched the mess unfold one move at a time.

It wasn’t an obvious breakdown. Kent had been a grandmaster for near-on a decade now. He was good at chess and could beat most people in his sleep. But he’d become world champion because he was more than good at chess. He’d become world champion because he looked at the board in a completely different way. He made moves others would never have made—certainly not the moves he would have picked up from strategy books or a mentor.

None of the surprise was there today. None of the zeal and personality Kent infused into every game. It was like watching a teaching game not a world championship match. The quality was still high and the spectators still leaned in to watch, but Eric knew Kent and Eric knew Kent’s chess as well as his own.

Kent dropped the first game despite having been in the lead.

He dropped the second and third, as well. They broke for lunch, a catered meal in a separate room where they should talk, where Eric had a duty as second to help pull Kent out of his ass and get him back on the board and in his game.

They each ate half of their meal in silence and ignored the glares their server sent them at the plates still being so full.

“We studied his game,” Eric said as they walked back into the room, “I know you’re better than this.”

Kent ground his jaw but shook Jack’s hand and sat back down at the table for game four.

He won.

The entire room sighed in relief.

But then he lost the next two and barely managed to wrap the day up with a draw.

As Thirdy called an end to play for the day, the score stood at 4.5 to 1.5, leaving Jack Zimmermann only 2 games away from victory and the title.

* * *

The hotel door slammed against the wall as Kent stormed through.

“We still have all tomorrow and if Jack can win three straight, I know you can win five,” Eric said as he carefully shut the door, checking to make sure Kent hadn’t damaged the wall.

“Oh, really, you just know that, do you?”

Eric heard the scoff and attitude, and scowled. “I believe I told you yesterday that I am done with your smart-talk, mister,” he reminded Kent as he turned back to him having confirmed the wall was unmarred.

Kent gnashed his teeth at that and kept his attention on his phone where it had been since the matches ended for the day. Eric knew they were his Twitter mentions because Eric had felt his phone going off in his pocket the whole way back to the room.

“Lord, Kent. Can’t you put your phone down for three seconds?” he asked, pulling out his records of the games and his laptop. “Twitter isn’t gonna win you the championship.”

“Like you can talk,” Kent sneered, pulling his phone even closer as he began to type out his replies. By the time Eric woke his laptop up and pulled out the first game’s record, his phone was buzzing even more in his pocket.

“If you’re saying I’m that bad and even I tell you to stop, what do you think that says about you right now?” Eric argued, rather than respond to Kent’s baiting comments. He’d always known Kent was highly competitive and a poor loser, but dealing with those right now, after all the stress that had been lumped on him this weekend thanks to Kent’s immaturity and need for constant attention, was too much. “Just turn it off or hand it over,” he ordered as he walked over to Kent and held his hand out. “We need to review the games and prepare for tomorrow.”

Kent ignored Eric and switched from Twitter to Instagram.

Eric sighed in annoyance and grabbed the phone. If Kent wasn’t going to be an adult about this, he would be. “Let go,” he ordered as he tugged on the phone. Kent refused, clenching his grasp tighter until it slipped out while he was trying to readjust his grip. Eric, not expecting the phone to come out so quick, accidentally threw it across the room where it smacked into a table leg then spun face-down across the floor.

Eric winced and hoped the screen hadn’t cracked.

Kent stood up from the couch and towered over Eric, glaring down at him. “I don’t know why you’re pushing so hard,” he sneered. “It already went the way you wanted, right?”

“What?” Eric asked in confusion.

“You think I haven’t caught on yet?” Kent pressed. “With how close you got to Zimms and his tagalongs back in New York? Set me up to fall and then jump ship at the last second. That sounds about right. I bet your parents don’t even care you’re gay. They’re disappointed in you, not who you fuck.”

“You can’t even get any lower or crazier, can you?” Eric asked. “It’s just painful to listen to you at this point. Like some wounded animal caught in a hunting trap, knowing your number’s up but hoping to take anyone down with you.” He shook his head, swallowed over the pain in his chest, the stinging behind his eyes and the nausea in his gut. “You can yap all you like,” he said, not even glaring anymore as he let the emptiness of recognizing the end they had finally hit consume him. “I’m done.”

“Go, then!” Kent snapped. “Get out! What are you even still doing here? You’ll find someone else to latch onto quick enough, I’m sure.”

Kent shooed him out of their room—it was a shared room and Eric could probably fight to make Kent leave if he wasn’t ready to just cut the cord and be done with it. “Pack my stuff up. I’ll have a bellman pick it up in an hour,” Eric said as he walked out the door.

Kent ignored the finality with which Eric firmly shut the door and stomped down the hallway. Instead, he went into the bedroom to grab his suitcase and began throwing clothes into it from the closet and drawers.

Eric’s toiletries bag had exploded over half the sink—the reason they always double checked a hotel had a lot of counter space before booking. Kent threw things in haphazardly: toothbrush, travel toothpaste—he’d have the bellman bring him up some more for himself—floss. His night guard, because Eric ground his teeth like a cow with cud when he was stressed, fell to the ground and Kent didn’t even rinse it off before throwing it into the bag behind its case.

It was almost too easy to pack everything up and in under 20 minutes, everything in the suite that was Eric’s was packed in his suitcase and carry-on and sitting by the front door. They had only been here for a few days, after all. It would be something else splitting up their stuff that had migrated into each of each others’ apartments back in California.

But even just that little bit of packing had cooled Kent down from the wordless, explosive rage Eric had pushed him to. It didn’t all go away, of course. The betrayal was still there and the anger gave it a comfortable buffer from the rest of his thoughts, but he was able to put words to it, at least. He sat on the couch and stared at the bags, gathering his words, before grabbing his phone and opening up Twitter to the tweet he’d sent out before packing.

_It’s not vindictive. I just don’t think it’s unfair for me to expect the same dedication and compassion from people I work so hard for._

He stared at the tweet, at the interest it was already generating, and gave a sardonic grin. He hit retweet.

_Fools never learn, I guess._

* * *

A healthy body housed a healthy mind.

It had become Jack’s mantra over the years after his overdose. It wasn’t always perfect, but a steady exercise regimen helped work out the nerves and shakes and kept his endorphins high enough to keep the depression from taking over without notice.

Jack’s phone beeped at him, telling him his time was up for the day. He hopped off the treadmill and took slow, deep breaths to bring his heart rate the rest of the way into a resting zone as he wiped the sweat off his face and neck with the hotel towel he’d pulled from the fitness center’s basket when he’d stepped in an hour ago.

The walk back to his room would be just enough if he took the stairs and then he could stretch and shower and sit down to another round of chess with Lardo before calling it quits for the night. He’d face Kent again tomorrow and he didn’t trust that whatever had Kent off today would still be there tomorrow. It would be an uphill battle through the very last game.

Jack swallowed and felt his heart rate start to pick back up a bit, but he was too tired for the anxiety to take any stronger of a hold. Instead, he threw the dirty towel in the bin, grabbed his water bottle and headed for the stairs in the lobby.

“What do you mean you don’t have any rooms left!”

Jack paused as he entered the lobby, his ears immediately picking up on a familiar voice and accent.

“I know we’re in the middle of a chess tournament! It’s why I’m here in the first place!”

Over at the desk, Eric Bittle stood arguing with a front desk clerk, his luggage beside him. The clerk said something Jack couldn’t hear before Eric continued in frustration.

“Then can you help me find somewhere else to stay? I need a new room!”

Jack blinked in confusion and abandoned his trip along the side of the lobby for the stairs to cut through the room and over towards Eric.

“What do you mean the entire city is sold out! There’s got to be a hostel or something, right? Europe has those all over the place.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the event’s brought in a lot of visitors and all of the hotels in Merano are full if not oversold. If someone fails to show up tonight, a room might become available, but that’s not something that could be confirmed until after midnight.”

“Am I just supposed to sleep in the streets?” Eric asked, his shoulders tense and shaking. He sounded on the verge of tears.

“Bittle?”

Eric whipped around in surprise and Jack could see from his red eyes that he actually had been crying.

“Jack—” Eric began before cutting himself off and looking away in embarrassment.

“Mr. Zimmermann, I apologize for this. Is there anything I can do to assist you?” the clerk asked.

Jack watched Eric collapse further into himself and shook his head. “Eric is the second of Kent Parson, the other competitor,” he pressed. “Is there really nothing you can do?”

The clerk flinched and dropped his eyes down to his keyboard. “We really do not have any rooms available,” he explained. “It’s the same, if not worse, with the other hotels in the city. Some of them are oversold and trying to find rooms for people. Word has it even Airbnb is full.”

Jack sighed and looked at Eric and how small he looked once more before sighing. “I’ll handle this,” he told the clerk before grabbing Eric’s luggage.

“Let’s go,” he directed and began walking towards the elevator.

“Wait, Jack—!”

“You look like you’ve been through a lot. We can figure this out up in my room,” Jack pressed as Eric ran up behind him. “At the very least, you can stay in my room. The sofa can be a pull-out and Shitty and I can share the bed.”

The elevator opened and Jack stepped in with Eric’s luggage. When he turned around to press the button for his floor, Eric still stood outside, staring at him with his jaw dropped in surprise.

The doors started to close and Jack threw his hand out to hold them open.

“W-why?” Eric asked, his breath shaking even more than his voice as he rung his hands.

“Because you look like you need the help and I can do something about it,” Jack replied with a shrug as he shot his most earnest gaze to get Eric to agree. “I don’t know what happened and why you can’t stay with Parson, and I don’t need to know,” he continued. “But something obviously happened and I just want to make sure you’re okay. If you can find a room, then you can grab that, but at least this way you don’t have to worry about not having somewhere to stay tonight.”

Eric took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly, his shoulders slipping back down from his ears as his chin fell to his chest. “Thank you,” he murmured as he finally stepped into the elevator. “I can at least handle my own luggage, though.”

Jack smiled fondly at Eric when he batted Jack’s hand away from the handle.

The doors shut.


	3. Entr'Acte

**_MERANO BLUNDER_ **

_by Dustin Snow_

_Posted March 29, 2019_

_After coming back from a volatile first day — the game coming to an early break when Kent Parson threw the game — literally — and stormed out of the competition — Parson could not seem to get his feet under him. The score at the end of Day 2 sat at 4.5 to 1.5 with Jack Zimmermann taking a clear lead._

_At the start of the second day, however, Kent Parson delivered a note to the arbiter, Randall Robinson III, conceding the match and immediately departing, making Jack Zimmermann, after an exciting three days, the new World Champion._

_Plans are already in place with the World Chess Federation as they work to promote next year’s World Championship in Bangkok, Thailand, where Jack Zimmermann will fight to maintain his newly earned title._

_Read Comments (622)_

* * *

**CHESS’S PARTY BOY CONTENDER STRIKES OUT**

King’s Bishop

1,000 views | 6 hours ago

This is Chad Schodek and you’re watching King’s Bishop where I discuss what is happening in the world of chess! Of course the biggest news right now is the Chess World Championship where Grandmaster Jack Zimmermann, at his first attempt at the title, unseated five time World Champion Kent Parson to claim his title just yesterday in Merano, Italy. For all my subscribers old and new, I thank you for following me as I had the opportunity to attend and commentate on the match, which was streamed on the WCF’s official site.

Needless to say it was a wild event, with a secret history between Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann being published within hours of the official match start. And that is not counting Kent Parson throwing a punch at a reporter—link to a video of the fateful press is down below—though with the confirmation of Parson and Zimmermann’s elicit relationship, one has to wonder if the reporter wasn’t spot on with his question about Parson’s amateur second, Eric Bittle.

We’ll put a pin in Eric Bittle and come back to him because, wow, guys, do we have a lot to talk about there, but after the altercation with the reporter and after the published truth about the Parson-Zimmermann connection, Parson threw a fit that, in my opinion, should have gotten him disqualified when he threw the board and stormed out of the competition. He was, however, allowed to return to the table the next morning where he went on to lose 4 of the 6 games played that day. It was a complete crash and burn! And Parson knew it, too, because by the next morning, he’d conceded the match.

NOW we can go back to Eric Bittle because that day, he was seen boarding a plane not with his employer, Kent Parson, whom many believed him to also be in a relationship with, but Jack Zimmermann! And this isn’t just he-said, she-said! We have pics to prove it! Look pretty cozy, don’t they?

And if we look back on Kent Parson’s twitter, we don’t see much. Parson’s prolific social media use has practically stopped since he conceded the match. One of the last tweets, however, reads, and I quote, “It’s not vindictive. I just don’t think it’s unfair for me to expect the same dedication and compassion from people I work so hard for.” Parson then retweeted the comment to add “Fools never learn, I guess.”

Guys. My dudes. Is it possible we have not only one or two gay dramas, but three? Over the span of two days? Zimmermann-Parson, Parson’s punch and now Parson being dumped for his ex? No wonder the guy’s gone media silent. You gotta almost feel bad for him...

* * *

**Kent Parson**

_@kvparson90_

Chess Grandmaster, Party-Boy Extraordinaire.

You wish you were this flawless.

**This user’s Tweets are protected.**

Only confirmed followers have access to _@kvparson90_ ‘s Tweets and complete profile. Click the “Follow” button to send a follow request.

* * *

_r/chess_ | Posted by _u/endgame_

**ZIMMERMANN-BITTLE SILENT ON CHEATING RUMORS**

I blame Parson. Since when did my Chess newsfeed start looking like a fucking gossip rag???

_u/gambit_

I mean, it’d definitely be one way to get in your opponents head…

_u/blitzer_

p sure zimmermann’s been in more than parson’s head…

_u/matecheck_

p sure mods also said no homophobic comments…

_u/jolly_mean_giant_

Agreed. Can we just go back to when we cared about someone’s play, not their private life? Parson hasn’t even been to any competitions since he flamed out. I don’t care if chess is popular or not.

_u/curlyfries_

but the wcf does and they’re the ones who matter. so until they realize how much of their ass they’re showing, we just have to deal.

_u/queensdontsmoke_

admittedly, part of me is curious :3 so, like, keep giving me the deets. anyway, if they did cheat, jack zimmermann should lose his title. no wonder kent’s had such a rough time.

_u/jolly_mean_giant_

Ugh. Parson fangirls...

* * *

**JACK ZIMMERMANN CONTINUES TO CRUSH AT AMERICAN CONTINENTAL IN SÃO PAOLO**

_After an astounding victory and claiming of the world champion title, Grandmaster Jack Zimmermann has been on a rampage, flying through the first half of the Grand Chess Tour and now obliterating the competition at the American Continentals held, this year, in São Paolo._

_Read More_

* * *

**natasha hardy** _@itsybitsyspy_

_@beachbitch_ Did you see those pictures of Eric Bittle and Jack Zimmermann? From Montreal?

**Fifi** _@beachbitch_

O.O where????

**natasha hardy** _@itsybitsyspy_

HERE!!! It’s definitely a date.

**Fifi** _@beachbitch_

do you think he introduced him to his parents? jack’s family lives in montreal right?

**natasha hardy** _@itsybitsyspy_

Jack does, too...but it’s not impossible.

* * *

**King’s Gambit**

_by Jonathan Ridge_

_Almost one year after becoming the new chess world champion, I sit down with Jack Zimmermann to discuss the game, the circuit and his coming chance to retain his title for another year._

… 

**“Speaking of team: your second, Larissa Duan, participated in the women’s tournament this time around and placed fourth. Does it make it hard without her as your second?”**

“Yeah. She’s a great chess player and deserves her chance to take center stage. We knew she could do it. And, the two of us, we’ve actually been playing each other a lot and helping each other. It’s given us both the opportunity to develop new strategies and ways of looking at the board.”

**“But you did change your second to Eric Bittle for this tournament.”**

“He’s an experienced second.”

**“He faced quite a bit of heat while employed by Kent Parson due to being an amateur…”**

“Not everyone wants to compete. It doesn’t stop them from being good at the game.”

**“So there’s no truth to the rumor—”**

“I’m here to discuss chess, not gossip.”

**“Well, the next World Championship is fast approaching. There are a limited few who are still in the competition to claim the spot of competitor. Any you are specifically hoping to face or not face?”**

“Everyone is talented and, by this time in the circuit, settled into their game and started to develop their counters for each others’ tactics. It will be a good match no matter who I face. A tough match.”

**“Now, I know you only talk chess, not gossip, but I do have to ask...After last year’s match, Kent Parson has been absent from both the chess and social media circuits, but the WCF has just announced he will be commentating at this year’s championship.”**

“I don’t hear a question yet.”

**“There are people who question the legitimacy of your win, considering what happened with Eric Bittle. If this is the start to a return to competitive play for him, are you looking forward to a rematch to prove the title rightfully yours?”**

“Chess is chess. A win is a win and a loss is a loss. The title is already rightfully mine, no matter what others say. Should Kent Parson return to the circuit, we will likely face each other again, but it’s a brand new game every time the board is set.”

… 


	4. Act II

“I’m just saying there’s something off with Zimmermann’s game and it might be worth looking into. It could give a whole episode of material for you. The games are interesting to comment on, but it doesn’t allow for much deep analysis of moves or player mindset because it’s done live,” Kent pressed as he nursed his beer.

Chad rolled his eyes as he finished his boilermaker and raised his hand to get the waitress’s attention. “One more,” he said in slow English as if the woman hadn’t been speaking with them fluently since they’d arrived. She smiled daggers that went unheeded as Chad turned his attention back to Kent.

“And I’ve told you, man, we’re off the clock,” he said. He looked over to the bar and winked at a group of women who had momentarily looked their way. “Enjoy the sights. Save the breakdowns for when we’re back in the States and not playing tourist on someone else’s dime.”

Jannie came back with another beer and a shot of whiskey for Chad. Kent waved off a second beer for himself as he smiled apologetically and nodded to her. The smile she sent him in return seemed moderately less murderous than the one she’d sent Chad.

“C’mon,” Chad said after he finished off his shot of well whiskey with a slam of the glass onto the table, “You’re chess’s party boy, aren’t you? Live a little. We’ve been here two hours and you’re still on your first beer.”

“And your idea of living a little is getting drunk and picking up chicks in hotel bars?” Kent asked sarcastically.

“What else would it be?” Chad asked. “It’s not like I care about some muddy river or some statues you can barely tell are a man.”

Kent immediately sent wide eyes around the room, but thankfully no one appeared to be paying them any attention. He set his half a beer down on the table and shoved it away.

Chad was back to checking out girls in the bar. “Which one do I want to sleep with the most?”

“Dude,” Kent interjected, pleading with Chad to stop being such an obvious asshole.

“What?” Chad grunted. “The whole point of taking this gig is to travel and have fun on someone else’s dime. Here I thought you’d appreciate the same thing. Well, you know where your room is, man. I’ve got things to see and ladies to do.” He smirked back over at the group from before. “Pretty sure they’re a safe bet,” he whispered to Kent as he stood from the table and tossed a few banknotes down to cover his tab. “See you in the morning. Maybe you’ll have gotten that stick out of your ass. Shove something else up there, instead.”

Kent grit his teeth and clenched his hand around his cup as he let Chad walk away. This was work. He’d make this work for work.

He closed his eyes in physical and mental exhaustion and downed the rest of his water. There was a dip in the table and a sound of a scraping chair as someone sat down next to him. Kent opened his eyes to see a guy grinning at him. Judging by his clothes and comfort in the hotel bar, he was likely here on business and traveled regularly. Kent didn’t recognize him from the chess world, though.

“I’m Connor,” he introduced himself. “I don’t normally go straight up to guys like this, but wanted to ask if I could buy you a drink.”

Kent looked the guy up and down. He thought about it. He really did. But, ultimately, he shook his head. “I’m about to call it,” he explained, “Have fun tonight, though, yeah? Next drink’s on me as apology.” He tossed a couple thousand baht down to cover the rest of his and Chad’s tab, a nice tip for Jannie and enough for at least one more drink for Connor. “Have a good night man,” he wished as he stood up and excused himself.

Fuck. He’d been hot, too.

* * *

“I don’t trust him.”

Eric sighed and crossed his arms as Jack brought up the same issue he’d been harping on all day. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here with you, not him. And that’s not changing.”

“But how can you know?” Jack asked.

“I’m pretty sure I know my own mind, Jack Zimmermann,” Eric snapped in response, but bit his tongue and shrank back in on himself to hold back the rest of the diatribe that question had begged. It wasn’t worth rehashing and he knew this was mostly Jack’s anxiety kicking into high gear after his losses earlier today. “Besides,” he pointed out, jokingly, “how do you know he’s not here for you?”

“Absurd,” Jack said, quickly waving the idea off. “We don’t have anything else to say to each other. Haven’t for years.”

It was a harsh statement. Final. Eric wasn’t sure he could agree with it. “Considering how Kent acted last year, are you sure he really thinks the same?” he pressed, trying to get Jack out of his own head and point of view. As much as picking Kent Parson as the way to do that was a road that led to no good end.

Jack didn’t reply. It wasn’t a surprise. Jack had a tendency to remain silent when there wasn’t an answer he liked. He also had the stubborn tenacity to keep at it until he found a new way to attack, keeping himself from having to fall solely into defense.

Eric just wished he’d stop treating his life and relationships like an extension of his chess game. “Look,” he pressed in slight exhaustion, “I’m not saying what he did was acceptable. I’m just saying that when he feels hurt by someone or something he cares about, his first instinct is to lash out and I’ve never seen him act the way he did with you, sweetpea. Things might be over for you, but they definitely weren’t for him. The fact that you let all these rumors continue to fly doesn’t help one bit. He may still think there’s a chance.”

“No.” Jack continued, firmly. “There’s no future, no chance and no reason to talk about our private life with complete strangers. The people who need to know, know. I don’t want to start this argument again.”

Eric could start the fight again. He could hear it in his head already, knew exactly how it would go. It always went the same way.

_ “Jack, you don’t have to let them know every little bit. Just give them enough to satisfy them.” _

_ “Show me where they were satisfied with Parson. With you. He put everything out there and they only ever wanted more. Now that he’s silent, they ignore him.” _

_ “Kent worked hard to keep their attention on him. It was marketing and it was his brand. Yours is very different and once the media understands that, they’ll lose interest. Attention might go up for a bit, but once they learn how boring we are, it’s going to go away. I studied this, Jack. I’ve done this for a living. Can’t you listen to me just once?” _

Jack hadn’t listened so far and Eric knew that wouldn’t be changing today with the score as it was.

“If Kent is here because of me, letting at least him know we’re happily together will tell him there’s not really a chance for him,” Eric said, instead.

Jack frowned. “Don’t try to manipulate me like that.”

Eric looked away. “I didn’t mean everyone. I said just him. But I really have no plans on meeting with Kent.”

A knock on the door preceded Shitty’s arrival. He seemed to pause for a moment at the tension in the air between them before pressing through it. “You’ve got an interview in 30, Jack. Ready to head out?”

Eric watched Jack look from Shitty back to him, easily catching the signs of lingering tension. “Yeah, Shits. I’m ready,” Jack said as he leaned over to give Eric a kiss goodbye.

“I love you,” he promised, giving Eric’s shoulder a squeeze then running his hand down his arm.

“I love you, too,” Eric replied, giving Jack’s hand a squeeze before Jack turned and walked out the door.

* * *

“Despite a rocky start, you’ve had a really strong showing so far in this competition, Don, and we look forward to seeing more strong plays from you from here on out,” Chad said as he reached over to the middle aged man he was interviewing and shook his hand. “Thank you for your time.”

“Always a pleasure,” Don said with a smirk.

Their hands dropped and Chad reached over to turn off his camera then leaned back into his chair in a far more casual manner.

“But I do gotta say,” he said in surprise, “I don’t think anyone expected to watch Zimmermann crash and burn like this. Higher ups are trying to keep things seeming even in the reports since games won are equalizing, but you dominate the board more and more with each game.”

“I have the upper hand,” Don explained with a shrug and a proud grin, “Mentally, that is.”

“You mentioned that in the interview, but wouldn’t go any further in detail,” Chad mentioned. “Don’t suppose you’d be more interested in sharing now that the camera’s off?”

Don appeared to take a moment, humming in thought, but he smiled the entire time and Chad was not surprised when he nodded his ascent.

They were chess players, after all. Where was the fun in victory if you didn’t have people poring over your plays, recognizing how well-laid they were?

“Who do you think recommended Kent Parson to his position this year?” Don asked.

Chad frowned. “He didn’t offer, himself? He always loved the attention and the money…”

Don’s smile grew darker. “Return to face his embarrassment again?” he asked. “Both on the board and in his personal life? It only took a few whispers. The Chess Federation is gagging for attention, almost as much as Parson used to.” He scoffed. “The man didn’t deserve chess. I want to rub his face in that loss every chance possible.”

“But how does that help with gaining a mental edge on Zimmermann?”

Don eyed Chad and sighed in expected disappointment. “Because he goes into everyday knowing he will have to not only see but interact with Kent Parson. Because when he does, he remembers where they were last year. The newspaper spilling their dirty secrets. Their shared past. Their shared second which comes with his own shared rumors between them.”

Chad nodded in understanding and leaned in closer out of interest.

“Zimmermann has anxiety,” Don continued, easily. “Shaking up his personal life enough to keep his anxiety going can paralyze him on the board. He can’t see the plays if he’s so focused on the moves he has to make in his private life.”

Chad laughed, impressed. “That’s a pro for you. Taking advantage of a good situation like that. I wouldn’t have even considered it.”

“Taking advantage?” Don scoffed. He looked around the area, but the room they were in was closed off to just them. He still leaned in closer, all the same, as he asked, “How do you think that newspaper even learned about Zimmermann and Parson in the first place?”

“You mean…?”

“Zimmermann’s always been weak-minded.” Don waved the comment off as an expectation, a known thing. “I’ve played against him many times, including before his breakdown and initial withdrawal from competitive chess,” he added. “I knew him and Parson quite well when they were still friends.” Don scoffed at that idea and Chad shook his head, as well. Chess was a competition, not a social circle. If friendly chess was what you wanted, you might as well go play a game at the rec center.

“When Zimmermann gained his grandmaster status last year, I realized it was the perfect time to implement my plan to tear down Parson,” Don explained. “Neither of those two deserves the titles they’ve held, and, ultimately, after this week, neither should be returning to chess ever again.”

“Sending the chess robot to the junkyard, huh? I like the way you think,” Chad said as he stood up. He looked back down at Don with a crooked smirk. “Wanna talk a bit more over a drink?”

* * *

Jack walked into the room to find Chad fiddling with his camera and Parson pouring over a handful of papers.

“Jack!” Chad greeted as he stood up from the tripod and walked up to him, holding his hand out for a firm handshake in greeting. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Of course,” Jack said with a frown, his eyes slipping over Chad’s shoulder to Parson.

Chad cleared his throat, drawing Jack’s attention back to him. “I know the plan was for me to interview you, but work has actually called me out for a moment. I hope you don’t mind Kent stepping in.”

“That—”

“I knew you’d be fine with it. We really appreciate that flexibility. Have a fun evening, both of you.” And, with a grin, Chad left, leaving Jack alone in the room with Parson.

They stared at each other for a moment before Parson coughed into his hand and then stood, walking over to the camera and fiddling with the settings, just as Chad had been doing.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, directing to the chairs set up on either side of a small side table. Some plants had been placed around to make it appear more homey, but on the table sat a chess set mid-game.

Jack glanced at it as he sat and frowned at the mess.

“It’s set up randomly for appearance,” Parson said as he sat down with a remote in hand, “I don’t even look at it, honestly.”

Jack sniffed at him. “Let’s just get this done and over with.”

Parson smiled at him, one Jack recognized from interviews and magazines and the last time they sat down across a chess board from each other. It was one that meant to bite.

Kent pressed a button on the remote as the smile turned the false friendly he wore when working with fans—people whose attention he appreciated, but whom he still wanted to keep at a distance.

Jack didn’t know why he was still able to read Kent so well. There was years between them, after all. And far more hurt.

“It’s been about a year since we sat down face to face like this,” Kent said, reminding Jack of the interview they were currently in.

“Certainly not what I expected after your retirement from the circuit,” Jack admitted.

Kent nodded and laughed at that, but tapped the cards in his hands and pressed on. “Despite a strong start, taking the first two days’ matches straight, you seem to have hit a troubling stall-out to this competition. Your competitor has caught up. Do you see a turning point coming?”

“Each game is its own challenge. A fresh start.”

“And yet you seem to have trouble finding a way to turn the tide. Is there something in particular that is keeping you from giving the game your full attention?”

“I always give my full effort to each match.”

“What makes Don such a difficult opponent? His pesky mind games? I know I always found them frustrating.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

Kent sighed in frustration and turned to the next page. Jack watched as his small momentarily fell and his jaw clenched. He looked like he was about to flip to the next card, but, instead, he smiled back up at Jack with that biting grin from earlier and asked. “Could it be your personal life? You’ve been the focus over the last year of quite a bit of social media-generated interest regarding your relationships both past and present.”

“I don’t discuss my private life in public.”

“What about your second, then?” Parson pressed from another direction. “Up until this year, you had been working with Larissa Duan, the wife of your manager, Brandon Knight. A change in such an important member of your team can shake up a lot about a player’s game and mindset.”

Jack ground his jaw and bit down on what he really wanted to say. There was a burning in his chest at how Eric was bound to take this line of questioning. At how Parson had been wrapped up in a scandal last year trying to punch a reporter for this same topic. “Larissa hit a point where she couldn’t grow much more as just my second. She needed to experience competitions and playing a greater variety of players on a more regular basis. She’s now doing amazingly on the professional circuit. Seconds change, but she’s still a close friend and we play together when we can. Eric has experience as a second and is a strong professional. As you well know.”

Parson’s lips pursed before he looked away and said, “I know he also has his own hang-ups.”

“And that he doesn’t bring those into his career,” Jack shot right back. “You made those points yourself last year.”

The door opened and Chad slipped back through, quietly closing the door behind him and holding a finger up to his lips to signal to the two to ignore him. Parson eyed him for a moment longer until Chad nodded, at which point he turned back to Jack.

“My relationship with Eric Bittle isn’t the one being questioned here,” he replied, settling into a grim smirk. “And our viewers are definitely asking that question.”

Jack stood, sick of the questions and sick of Parson. “We’re done here.”

“What are you leaving for? We’ve still got plenty of time and questions!” Parson called out after him. “You’ll have to find a balance with media at some point, Zimmermann. Hasn’t Eric given you that speech yet?”

Jack didn’t even deign him with a glance, let alone a response.

“You’re playing two games and losing both!”

He shoved past Chad and flew out the door. As the door slammed behind him, he heard laughter and applause.

* * *

“You should’ve seen it. They both looked ready to fight,” Chad said with a punched laugh. “I just couldn’t tell you if it would be each other or themselves.”

Don smiled at Chad’s story of watching tear each other down in their interview. “It was entertaining enough to watch the edited version,” he affirmed. “I can only imagine having seen it live. Your views seemed to have jumped quite a bit, too.”

“They jumped last year during the championship, too, though not quite this much. Having Parson do the interview was a stroke of genius. Thanks for that,” Chad replied.

“Stick with me and we’ll make sure that count doesn’t drop,” Don promised. He picked up the check as the server left it at the table, covering both their meals. “In fact, we may be able to get you something even more stable.”

He grabbed his glass of wine to finish off what was left and smirked. “Now, why don’t you have Parson interview me next? The difference in professionalism between Zimmermann and I will do a lot to progress the argument that he’s losing it.”

Chad laughed in disbelief and shook his head. “You’re downright evil, aren’t you?”

“I just like to use the tools I have at my disposal.”

The waitress stopped by to pick up the payment. Chad waited until she left before saying, “Then we’re a lot alike, the two of us.” He stood. “How’s this afternoon at 5pm for your interview? I have another angle to look into this afternoon.”

Don’s smile was chilling. “Perfect.”

* * *

Eric hit pause on the video and walked away. To be honest, he wanted to throw his laptop, in its entirety, with the video still playing, out the window, but the hotel windows didn’t open and Eric was absolutely certain defenestration was not covered by his laptop’s warranty.

He grabbed a water bottle from the room’s mini-fridge, opened it, then set it on the counter.

“So what is it you look for in a second?” Chad had asked in his interview with Don.

“Someone with a competitive career, first and foremost,” Don had said in a tone of voice that Eric’s years of southern manners had taught him meant more than just the words being said. “Competitive chess is a monster in and of itself and a second needs to understand the experience of it to be able to properly help their champion.

“Robert, my second, is a ranked player. Eventually, he’ll move on from being my second to being top competition. Those will be fun matches because we’ll both understand each others’ play so well.”

Eric’s eyes had narrowed there, an itch growing inside his chest at his own obvious lack of competitive experience.

“If that experience is so key, what do you think of someone like Eric Bittle, who is unranked and non-competitive?”

“It makes me think it’s not his chess he was chosen for.”

“He was second to Kent Parson, five-time World Champion.”

“And was he not a part of his self-destruction last year? Now look at Zimmermann’s implosion with him this year.”

Eric left his water bottle he’d just opened and started to put together the in-room coffee machine. Something warm and sweet should help calm him down.

He watched, impatient, while his coffee brewed, sugar and non-dairy creamer already dumped into the mug at what Jack would deem an alarming amount.

His phone dinged.

It had been doing that a fair bit ever since the interview had posted. It was how Eric had decided it would be necessary to watch.

He left the pot going to walk back over to the bed he’d been sprawled on and grabbed his phone to check it. He was expecting another Twitter notification. There’d been an argument about him on Chess Twitter for the last few hours. He’d get notifications when some people @td him in their comments… or rants… or replies to comments or rants.

It was frustrating, but would have been manageable were it not for the way Jack and his performance had gotten dragged through the mud with him.

It was a text, instead. From his mother.

Eric glared down at the message before angrily tapping back to his own twitter, ready to put something out in the world to respond when a message from Jack came through, saying he was on his way back from the fitness center and would be ready for dinner after a shower.

_ See you in 30! _ Eric replied before turning his screen off and tossing his phone back on the bed.

Jack hadn’t wanted to get involved with the social media discussions. Jack hadn’t wanted Eric to get involved in social media discussions about him, either.

Belatedly, Eric remembered his coffee and went to pour it into the mug. The sweetness was cloying, rather than comforting. Every part of him already felt like vibrating apart from the mess Jack’s and his online presence was becoming and his inability to take action. The caffeine didn’t help at all.

* * *

Kent sat in the lobby, writing his hat with his hands as he watched the elevators for Eric. Today’s games would start soon, so Jack and Don were already at the event space, but Chad had confirmed Eric was not yet there.

The elevator doors opened, Kent set his shoulders and shoved his cap back on his head.

“We need to talk,” he said as he blocked Eric’s path. “It can be on the way to the competition.”

Eric had a bad habit of chewing on the inside of his cheeks. It left lines on them. Kent had tasted them when they’d been together. He knew Eric was doing it now, as he studied him, but there was nothing Kent could do about it now to release the tension and it hit like a physical blow to the chest.

He stepped aside so Eric could continue on his way and fell into step beside him.

Eric didn’t say yes, but he also didn’t say no and, with Eric, Kent had long ago learned he communicated through more than just his words.

“I really fucked up in letting you leave last year,” he said, wincing at Eric’s disapproving snort in response.

“I just was thinking it might be nice to get back on the circuit and I never had a better second than you. You and I both know trash like Don never would’ve made it this far with us ruling the chess world. He never did until I left, after all.”

Eric stopped and turned to face Kent with a concerned frown. “All of that is over, Kent,” he said, “You and me? Personally and professionally? That’s in the past and it isn’t coming back. You need to learn to move on with your life, just as Jack and I both have rather than holding on to something you destroyed yourself.”

Kent felt the knife enter his gut and then he felt the twist.

He stood there for a moment, recovering, as Eric continued on before running up ahead and stopping him in his tracks.

“But are you really moving on to something that’s good for you?” he pressed. “Eric, I know you. Isn’t watching everything everyone’s saying and doing without responding and doing damage control tearing you apart? Isn’t it tearing you and Jack apart?” He moved in closer, reaching a hand out to touch Eric’s shoulder as he continued to console, “You’re both so different; even the things you value.”

Eric jerked his shoulder back before Kent’s fingertips could make contact. “You don’t get to make that judgment,” he said, as he glared back at Kent. “You spend so much time focused on what social media thinks that you forget to take yourself or other people involved into consideration. I was hoping that your time away from Twitter and going private would help, but you need to learn that not everything is a show or a game. Not everything is for the people watching.” Eric was the one to step in this time, but rather than the consolation and commiseration Kent had offered, Eric only scolded and attached. “Jack and I are real people,” he said, a hand on his chest before reaching out and tapping Kent in the center of his. “You are a real person. Social media is a tool and you need to learn that now or it’s going to rule you for the rest of your life. Right now, people like Chad and Don are using you to further their own goals and you’re so focused on the show they’re putting on that you can’t even see it.”

Once again stunned, Kent stood as Eric walked past him.

“Eric!” he called out after him, not ready to let this go.

Eric paused once more, sighed and pulled his phone out. “I need to thank you, Kent,” he said as he tapped something out. “You reminded me of something important.”

He looked over his shoulder with one of his typical media smiles and said, “Goodbye, Kent,” before walking away. The words were just as firm and final as a year ago and it ripped Kent’s heart out once again. He didn’t try to stop Eric again.

* * *

**Eric Bittle** _@omgcheckplease_

Happy 6 Monthiversary and best of luck in today’s match sweetpea! You’ll always be my champion.

[attached a picture of Jack Zimmermann smiling fondly at the camera from across a chess board.]

* * *

“I don’t know why you had to post that when everything was going just fine—”

“It was not going fine, Jack,” Eric rebutted. “It hasn’t been going fine since last year. Don’t you realize? Your name is being dragged through the mud!”

Jack ground his teeth and clenched his fist. He hadn’t wanted this fight. He thought Eric hadn’t, either. But hearing the tweet, seeing it, in his post-game press tonight had been a punch in the face. And Jack could see Chad had loved every second of his floundering silence.

“It always has been!” he growled in frustration. “It’s why I don’t get involved.” Maybe it was his fault for not explaining better. Lardo and Shitty had both told him he tended to forget to communicate the details. What was obvious to him, wasn’t obvious to everyone else.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, loosening his jaw and his clenched fist. He folded his arms across his chest, instead. “I was an ugly baby of a model and a fat child of a professional athlete,” he explained, not quite able to look Eric in the face as he peeled back the layers of hurt going back to his childhood and put them on display. He hated it, but if he could trust one person to trust with this, it was Eric. “I was a failure of a sportsman in both hockey and chess. Media and social media have always been my enemy and I don’t see why you couldn’t just listen to this one request.”

Jack was met with silence.

All of his fears and hurt over media displayed in front of Eric and all he got was silence. Jack looked in Eric’s direction, wondering if this was when it all went foul only to find Eric watching him and biting the inside of his cheek, his face going red as he tried to hold back the tears Jack could see beginning to water his eyes.

“I know you haven’t had the same experience,” Jack pressed, having to fight back his own physical responses to the old emotional hurts, “But when I ask that you don’t get us involved with the media, this is why.”

Eric looked down and took a deep, wet shuddering breath as he rubbed his eyes dry. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said when he looked back up and Jack could see the concern on his face, but concern wasn’t the only thing there. Determination hid in the bent of his brow and the depths of his unwavering gaze. “But media and social media are not the ones who hurt you.”

Jack’s ire immediately roared back to life as he immediately rose to defend himself. After revealing all of that to Eric, to have Eric brush it aside—!

“People hurt you using the media!” Eric pressed before Jack could shout his reply.

“Social media and the media at large are tools, Jack,” Eric continued, unwilling to give Jack any ground to step in. “You choose how to use them. They’re not your enemy. They’re not my friend. They’re a tool. And they’re a tool I know how to use.”

Jack gnashed his teeth. “I was an infant when it started.” There was no way he could have defended himself.

“And I’m not putting any of what other people did on you, sweetpea,” Eric pressed, reaching out to lay a gentle touch on Jack’s arm. It was calming, comforting, like it should be. But Eric’s fingers also shook just enough that the normally steady touch brought its own anxieties to grasp at Jack’s throat. Eric was scared.

“I’m just saying that when other people use it to try to tear you down,” Eric said, “let me use it to protect you. To protect us.” Jack watched as the tears started back up again. This time, however, Eric didn’t hold them back. “I love you so much. I can’t just continue to stand here and watch your opponent tear you and us apart like this in an attempt to throw you off your game.”

“It won’t work,” Jack pressed. Something like this wouldn’t affect his game.

“Oh, honey,” Eric said with a shake of his head as his shaking hand fell back down to his side, “it’s been working. You’ve lost your last four games straight and each loss has been worse than the one before.”

Jack wanted to take Eric’s hand back and hold it tight, until the shaking stopped. Until they both found the comfort they needed.

“I can still turn it around,” he said, instead. It wasn’t because of the media. It wasn’t because of Kent. It wasn’t Don’s mind games. He’d start fresh in his next game tomorrow.

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Eric said, even though he didn’t seem to agree with Jack’s sentiments. “I’m just saying to let me take one burden from you and handle this my way. I know you don’t like to let strangers in, but, sweetheart, they’ve already stormed through the front door. Just let me try to direct the chaos until I can chase them out.”

Eric was the one to receive silence in response this time.

Jack stood there, meeting Eric’s lost gaze with his own as he tried to find an answer to Eric’s request. He found nothing but his own pitch black anxiety echoing his questions back at him and he dropped his gaze and face when he finally admitted a soft, “I don’t know if I can do that.”

It was loud enough for Eric to hear. Jack heard the shaking breath he took at the admission before letting out his own.

“I don’t know if we’ll last without it.”

Jack’s heart fell past his feet. “What are you saying?”

Eric was scared, too. Jack could see it in his blanched face and wide eyes. This wasn’t something they wanted.

So why was it even an option?

Eric opened and shut his mouth a few times as he sought for words before finally saying, “I’m saying I’m going to go down to the bar for dinner and to give us both space to think about what we need and want and can compromise on.” His voice was hoarse and thin, barely holding on. Jack wondered if Eric felt the same tightening noose around his neck right now, but before he could argue, before he could say anything, Eric continued. “Because this stress is slowly suffocating us.”

“Eric, I don’t want to lose you,” he pleaded as he reached out to cover the distance between them. He didn’t have the courage to cross the final few inches, however, and his hand fell short.

The tears were streaming down Eric’s face now as he reached out to squeeze Jack’s hand with a comforting smile. “I love you, too, sweetpea.”

It didn’t stop him from walking out the hotel door, leaving Jack all alone.

* * *

The phone didn’t even ring twice before Troy picked up with a concerned, “Kent!” as greeting.

Kent pulled the phone from his ear to look at it in surprise before putting it back to his ear. “Uh...hey, Troy,” he greeted with an unsure smile.

“How bad did you fuck up this time?” Troy immediately asked and Kent winced.

“Can’t I just call my friend because I want to talk?” he asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Sure, you can, but I don’t normally get DMs from your ex-boyfriend six hours before you call saying you’re not doing well.”

Kent winced again.

“Also, you usually prefer video chat when you just want to talk so that you can check on Purrs.”

Kent winced a third time.

“Also it’s four in the goddamn morning over here.”

A fourth time.

“Okay,” Kent admitted. “I fucked up.”

“How bad?” Troy asked in that easy-going way he had that made all the tension in Kent’s chest immediately uncoil in a sigh of relief.

Kent had experienced a lot in his life. His dad left when he was nine and his mother barely paid him any attention except for the few times his successes in chess had garnered positive attention for her. He’d watched his first boyfriend almost die only to have said boyfriend subsequently cut him out of his life and had barely kept from falling apart himself. Everyone he ever got close to left him save three: Troy, Scraps and Purrs.

Eric had once been counted among their number, but, well, he eventually left, too.

“I shouldn’t have taken the job,” Kent bemoaned. “You should’ve stopped me.”

“Well, yeah. It’s everything you were working on dealing with all rolled up in one,” Troy pointed out. “And I did tell you it was a bad idea, but you’re a grown-ass adult and gotta make your own decisions, man.”

“I should’ve called Scraps…” Kent grumbled and threw himself backwards onto his hotel bed and stared up at the white ceiling.

“No, you called me because you need someone to read you filthy, not cheer you up,” Troy said, pointing out the obvious. “Stop avoiding the question.”

Kent sighed and nodded even though Troy wouldn’t be able to see it and admitted, “I got brought in to manipulate Jack and I played right into it. His game’s all over the place.”

“And?”

“Chad pulled a bait and switch on me and had me interview him and the questions were bad questions meant to needle him and I still asked them anyway,” he explained at Troy’s careless response. “People have been tearing Eric apart in social media and I tried to get him to do something about it, but apparently that was part of the plan, too. Every single thing I do just messes things up more and more. There’s one game left and he might lose it all because of me.”

“Kent, that’s on him, not you,” Troy replied. “And you know you can just leave, right? It’s not like you’re competing.”

Kent immediately pushed himself to sit back up. “I can’t just…leave things the way they are!” he argued. “I fucked things up with Jack and Eric both all over again.” He slammed his fist down into his thigh. “Shit!”

Troy sighed. “Kent, there are times when you need to pull yourself out of a bad situation before you can do anything else about it. Put your own oxygen mask on first, right?”

His therapist had told him that one and explained the meaning behind it in regards to mental health care. It wasn’t a tool he’d had to use yet, but he’d figured it was probably what Jack had done back when he’d spiraled and ghosted. There was a lot Kent had figured over the past year and a part of him had hoped he’d get the chance to deal with at least some of it when this opportunity had arisen four months ago.

“I was hoping to talk to them both,” he explained. “When the offer came.”

“I know,” Troy confirmed, his voice and words comforting.

Kent’s shoulders slumped and his head fell to his chest. “I wanted to apologize.”

“I know.”

Kent gnashed his teeth as he thought of the way Eric had left him earlier that day and not looked back. He twisted his fist into the comforter. “I didn’t mean to do any of this.”

“I know.”

“I always do this! Everyone I love ends up hating me.”

“Kent…”

“My dad left,” Kent pushed on, ignoring the warning in Troy’s voice. “My mom ignores me. Jack cut me out and Eric hates my guts. I don’t even know why you or Scraps stick around.”

“Stop! Right there,” Troy cut in with loud words and a sharp tone.

Kent paused long enough for Troy to recognize that he had, indeed, listened. “You don’t get to decide what Scraps or I do or should do. We stick around because we want to, so stop this pity party before it really gets off the ground.”

Kent remained silent, properly chastised, while Troy continued. “And Eric would not have sent me that message if he hated you. He would not be worried about you if he didn’t care.”

Kent licked his suddenly dry lips at Troy’s words, but didn’t dare to give the little bit of hope they awoke any additional attention.

“And your dad was a homophobic dickbag, and your mom and Jack both have their own issues that are not your fault,” Troy finished. “But I’m not your therapist so let’s not dig too much into that pile of shit, yeah?”

Kent laughed and hid his face in his hands. “He really sent you a DM about me?” he finally asked the question he’d been avoiding the answer to because, apparently, hope was a bastard no matter how small it was.

“Yeah,” Troy admitted with a warmth Kent could feel. “He was really concerned about you.”

Troy always had liked Eric a lot. He’d been royally pissed at Kent for a solid month after Kent had dragged himself out of the gutter enough to start actually getting help from something more than junk food, reality tv and drunken fits about the world being against you on your friend’s sofa in the middle of the night. “I really fucked that one up,” he said with an entire year’s worth of regret even while his heart hummed at hearing that Eric had reached out to Troy after their fight.

“You did.”

Kent thought back to that afternoon on the way to the afternoon games when he couldn’t put down his pride for even one minute to have a proper conversation with Eric. He hadn’t even tried to apologize. “I tried to get him to come back to me,” he admitted his next sin.

“Oh?” Troy asked and Kent could hear the interest and the curiosity.

He sighed. “By shitting all over Jack…”

“Oh…”

“I fucked that one up, too.”

“He had a breakdown and cut you off,” Troy argued, but Kent shook his head.

“I should’ve realized what was happening before.”

Troy sighed. “Do you need to get your therapist on the line because I know you’ve told me she’s told  _ you  _ how much bullshit that statement is before.”

“Fine. Last time wasn’t my fault,” Kent admitted, not ready to rehash this argument right now and remembering Troy’s warning about not starting a pity party. They didn’t fix anything. “But this time?”

“This time?”

“Watching this tournament has been like watching his breakdown all over again,” Kent said as he ran his free hand through his hair, tugging at the back of it. “Only this time I’m actively part of it.”

A missing piece of the puzzle in Kent’s brain clicked into place and he froze in sudden realization before diving for his laptop and throwing the lid open. He closed out of the online chess site he tended to casually play on to keep his skills from getting rusty and dove into the only document he kept saved on his desktop.

“Then just leave, Kent,” Troy was continuing to press as Kent scrolled down to the 12th game’s record and compared it to tonight’s play.

“It’s...the same…”

Troy grunted in frustration. “Like I said—”

“No, Troy!” Kent interrupted, true panic beginning to set in as he pulled up the official record of the night’s games to truly compare. “It’s the exact same.”

Well, maybe not the exact same. Obviously no chess game had happened more than once. The odds of that were simply too absurd and an individual would never make the exact same choices in the exact same order unknowingly when there were that many before them. But these games were too similar for it to be a coincidence, and as Kent thought back to this morning’s game and the games the day before, it was like someone had poured a bucket of ice down his back.

Troy had still been talking, apparently, and not liking that Kent wasn’t answering him any more. “Look, Kent, I think you really should contact your—”

“Troy, I gotta go,” he said, his mind already miles away. “I gotta find Eric.”

“Not a good ide—!”

Kent pulled the phone from his ear and hung up as he tore his laptop from its charter and ran out the door.

Good idea or bad idea didn’t matter at this point. All that mattered was getting Eric to understand exactly what it was Don was trying to do and exactly how dangerous his success could be.

* * *

He hadn’t even been able to taste his dinner as he’d eaten it. All Eric could think about was Jack and their fight and his words and walking out the door when Jack sounded like he was falling apart at the seams. He sniffled and downed the last of his beer.

He needed to go back to their room so they could finish talking this out. He and Kent had spent all of last year avoiding their issues and it had destroyed them from the inside out. He wouldn’t let that happen to him and Jack.

But it was a lot easier to nod his head when the bartender asked if he wanted another.

“Eric! There you are!”

It took him a moment to place the panicked voice shouting out to him across the bar, but then he turned around in bewilderment to watch Kent run up to him with rumpled clothes and wild eyes, his phone in one hand and his laptop tucked under his other arm.

He wasn’t even wearing shoes.

“Kent?” Eric asked in concern as Kent jumped onto the barstool next to him and opened up his laptop screen.

“I wasn’t sure where to find you and you weren’t responding to my messages and the front desk wouldn’t tell me your room number,” Kent immediately started talking as everyone around them stared.

“Kent, honey…”

“I’m so glad I found you, though. I really need to show you something.”

“Kent!”

Kent paused and looked back at Eric with surprise at Eric’s firm voice.

“Why are you here?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. See, I was talking to Troy—”

“That’s good,” Eric said, trying to rein Kent back in once again.

“—When I started thinking about today’s game and the past and—”

“Does Troy know you’re talking to me right now?”

Once again, Eric spoke as loud as he could without shouting to force Kent to pay attention and, once again, Kent blinked in surprise. He took a moment to process the question.

“Yes…” he admitted with a nervous grin. “He said it was a bad idea...”

Eric sighed in disbelief and exhaustion. “That’s probably because it is.” He was already in a fight. He didn’t need to start another one.

“Look,” Kent said seriously as he turned back to his laptop, “none of that matters.”

Eric blinked in surprise and pressed, “It matters a lot, Kent. Do you remember how this afternoon went?”

Kent gave him a chagrined glance then chuckled nervously. “I...should apologize.”

Eric opened his mouth to rebut Kent’s blow-off until he realized exactly what it was Kent had said. “Yeah, actually,” he agreed in complete surprise, “you should.”

Kent huffed and turned to face Eric as much as he could on his bar chair. “Look, Eric,” he said as sincere as Eric had ever seen him. “I’m an ass.”

Eric would have spat his drink out at that if he had taken a sip.

“I was an ass this afternoon and I was an ass last year and I’ve been an ass ever since getting to Bangkok,” he continued. “You were completely right to leave me every time you have. I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to tell you ever since the offer to commentate this year was given to me and I’m sorry it took this long to actually say it. Now, please, will you listen to me?”

Eric felt light-headed and a little dizzy. Had he fallen into some weird alternate universe? Was this a dream? Was this Kent some sort of body double? Kent stared at him, silent and waiting just like he always had when he’d asked Eric to be his second and then to be his boyfriend and every other time he’d been unsure and dependent on Eric’s response. Eric rose a hand to draw the bartender’s attention and pointed at an empty seat away from prying eyes and ears.

The bartender nodded and Eric stood.

“How about we get a drink and a table where people aren’t staring at us like we’re crazy.”

Kent blinked and, only then, seemed to notice the attention he’d drawn since his arrival. “Uh, yeah,” he stuttered, an embarrassed pink dancing between the freckles on his face. “I can handle that.”

The cocktail server brought water over for both of them and Eric’s beer. Kent winced and waved him off when he asked if Kent would like something else.

“I try not to drink anymore,” he explained at Eric’s curious stare.

Eric smiled at him sadly. “I can not drink, too, if it’ll help,” he offered, but Kent shook his head.

“Not really. Do what you want.”

Eric nodded and took a very long drink from his glass.

Kent waited until he put the glass down and swallowed what was in his mouth before saying. “I guess I should congratulate you on six months. I hope I didn’t mess things up with you and Jack by goading you into that.”

Eric raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, honey, you still think way too highly if you think I posted that because of you.”

Kent winced at the barb, but Eric was quick to relent.

“Though I guess I shouldn’t say that. You were the one to remind me that I know what I’m doing when it comes to social media.”

“Jack wasn’t angry?”

“Oh, I’m down here drinking beer to avoid going back to our room to finish the fight we’re currently in, but that’s between us, so don’t try to put yourself in the middle of it, either.”

Kent laughed and Eric looked up to find a nostalgic smile on his face. “God, I miss you…” Kent said, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t say that.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t sit down and talk things through,” Eric surprised them both by saying as he shoved the pang in his chest at the sound of Kent’s laugh and words. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, recently. How we both messed up a lot last year.”

“Me more than you,” Kent admitted and Eric didn’t argue that one.

But it wasn’t a competition. They had both messed up and they had failed because neither had been willing to put in the work to fix it. “Well, even with everything I learned not to do, I might not be able to save me and Jack, either,” he admitted forlornly and dropped his attention back into his beer.

“Don’t say that,” Kent said. “You two are perfect for each other.”

Eric snorted.

“And I hate that I was part of what is messing that up.”

“Honey, Jack and I are a mess,” Eric pointed out. We were a mess before Bangkok, too.”

“But you love each other,” Kent argued. “And his chess has been so much more stable over the last year.”

Eric smiled sadly. “Love doesn’t fix everything. It didn’t help us.” He reached out to pat Kent’s hand in a comforting manner because Kent looked pretty torn over the news that he and Jack had their own problems to work through.

Eric pulled his hand back and took a sip of his beer. “To be honest, you and Jack are probably a better pair than me and Jack,” he admitted as he set the glass down. He spun it around a bit and stared at it, watching the bubbles rise to the top. “I found some old pictures of the two of you while we were visiting his parents and I’ve never seen him smile so carefree like that before. He looked like a completely different person from the man I know.”

“Things weren’t so good as pictures make it seem, but maybe he is different,” Kent said. “There’s a lot of years between the Jack I dated and the one you’re dating now.” He paused for a moment and his voice dropped as he added a pained, “Not to mention everything that happened in between.”

Eric grimaced. “Or maybe we didn’t neither of us know him so well as we thought.”

Kent huffed. “Guess there’s no way to know without talking to him.”

Eric looked up to see a wry grin on Kent’s face. Eric matched it as he held up his beer and said, “Yeah, but who wants to do that?”

“Afraid you’ll be wrong?” Kent asked and it sounded like a challenge. It was something that, in the past, might have pushed him to action or, at least, defense.

Eric watched Kent with said eyes before shaking his head and admitting, “I don’t know.” There was so many ways everything could still go wrong even if neither of them wanted it to end here. It was like a game of chess when the opponent had you in checkmate and your only option was to sacrifice your queen. Was it worth prolonging the game, fighting to see if they could turn the tide? Or should they call it right here, knowing it would eventually lead to a loss anyway?

“If he still wants to talk with you,” Kent said, “then I think you’re doing a lot better than I ever did.”

Eric blanched at the words. “Oh, hon, I’m sorry. Here I am complaining when—”

“It’s fine,” Kent said as he raised his hands up to wave off Eric’s concern. “I mean, it sucks. It’s always sucked. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and a lot of talking and a lot of figuring things out over the past year.”

He paused for a moment, but seemed to be mulling on something else, so Eric waited and watched and, eventually, Kent continued. “After Jack’s breakdown and overdose, he wouldn’t talk to me and his whole family was silent. There were no updates and I was so worried. All I had were his old game records when he changed his number and I couldn’t even get his voicemail anymore. I studied them constantly, trying to see where I missed Jack needing help. He never talked about personal stuff, but chess is a mental game. I wanted to see if there were any signs in his gameplay. It came out of nowhere and I told myself there had to be something I missed. Something I did that failed him. Your mental state will always affect how you play.”

Eric listened, completely caught on hearing a story he’d been waiting on for over a year. “Did you find anything?”

Kent pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to meet Eric’s eyes.

“Is that why you broke down so much last year?” Eric asked in concern. “Carrying all that inside? Why couldn’t you tell me?”

Kent shook his head again. “That’s not the important part right now.”

Eric reached out and grabbed onto Kent’s arm. “Of course it’s important. You have always been important to me, Kent.”

Kent looked at him then and took in a sharp breath. Eric could see how jagged his emotions were right now and gave a comforting squeeze.

“Eric, I messed up,” he said, looking like he was about to cry. “I fucked up so bad with Jack and with you and I can’t do that again.” He took a steadying breath, blinking any tears back as he exhaled, then said, “Don was the last person Jack played before his breakdown. He is who Jack was playing when his breakdown happened. He overdosed right after. And I know he’s playing the same mental games again.”

Eric froze, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. “Did he tell you?”

“The games are the exact same.”

“What?”

“The games they’re playing,” Kent said as he pulled his laptop back out and showed Eric the screen with two game records side-by-side. “Move by move. They’re almost identical. Between that and the media pressure, he’s putting Jack back in the same mental and emotional state he was in when he OD’d. And you were right this afternoon. I was part of that pressure.”

Eric looked over both of the game records in shock and growing horror. They weren’t quite the exact same, but it was impossible to argue they weren’t unnaturally similar. “What do you expect me to do with this?” he asked, not understanding why Kent was telling him.

“There’s a way Jack can beat him,” Kent pressed. “I know this guy’s play and I’ve defeated him enough times. You know that yourself. He’s so easy to read once you know what to watch out for and I studied his match with Jack so hard back then I can still see each move when I close my eyes. I want you to share what I tell you with Jack. You’re his second now. He’ll listen to you.”

Eric watched Kent and his intense focus and determination as he spoke. He thought back to a year ago, when Kent had seen Jack at Central Park and immediately bit into him and then continued to do so, doing everything he could to draw some sort of reaction and finally realized where it had all come from.

“No.”

Kent froze. “What?”

“Kent,” Eric said with a furrow to his brows as he pulled as far away from Kent as he could. “I can’t do this for you.”

“It’s for Jack,” Kent pleaded.

And Eric knew Kent wasn’t lying. He was trying to help Jack the only way he knew how. Had thrown away all of his pride to be able to save someone he had hurt himself again and again over not being able to help before. Kent might be doing this for Jack, but there was something else that the two of them needed to do first.

Eric pulled out his phone. “Which is why I’m calling him over right now,” he said as he ignored all of the notifications from Kent and the warning DM from Troy and didn’t even read the message from Jack before he began typing. “The two of you need to have a proper sit down and be honest with each other. For once in your lives.”

* * *

Jack showed up five minutes after Eric sent his message.

It had been five minutes of silence as Eric finished his beer and Kent watched, wondering if the night was calling for one for him, too.

But then Jack was there, looking at the two of them like all his worst fears had come true and Kent wanted to run away.

Eric was the one who stood, instead, giving Jack a hug and having him sit across from Kent.

“I’ve been doing some talking with Kent and it’s not what you think,” Eric explained as he sat next to Jack and took his hand in both of his own. “Kent has some things he wanted me to tell you and I think it’s better if you two just talk yourselves, so I am going to leave you to it. Jack, honey, I’ll see you back at the room. Let me know if you need me to come back down, but I want the both of you to try to actually talk to each other.”

He stood up then and set Jack’s hand on the table.

“Now if you two will excuse me, I have a tab to close out.”

Kent and Jack both watched him as he walked up to the bar, spoke with the bartender, closed his tab and left. It was only once he disappeared fully from site that they sat back in their seats and looked at each other.

Kent knew he was the one who needed to start this, but, even still, he paused, panic and fear of how Jack would take this, take him, after he had already left himself so vulnerable for Eric.

But this had been Eric’s decision and Eric hadn’t seemed to want to hurt him. Eric had always been one of the people he could trust to do things in his best interest, even when it wasn’t something Kent wanted and Kent doubted tonight was any different.

“So I know you probably don’t want to hear anything from me, but I need to show you these two game records,” Kent started as he immediately turned to his laptop. It was nice to have something other than Jack to look at.

“Wait,” Jack said with a shake of his head and a confused look on his face. “What?”

Kent looked up from the computer screen and then looked right back to it. Even if he trusted Eric, it was still easier to avoid all the baggage he and Jack had right now and just focus on this one thing. “I just need you to see what I realized today. It shouldn’t have taken me this long, but…”

“Kent, that’s not what I meant when I said what,” Jack cut in and closed the laptop. “Why are you here? Why were you talking to Eric? Why did Eric say we need to talk when you apparently want to talk chess?”

“What? Apparently I’m the only one around her who loves it?” Kent replied in as offhand a manner as he could. Jack stared him down until he couldn’t keep up the facade anymore, however, and he looked away.

“II…” Kent paused as he searched for the right words. He looked back at his laptop, but he didn’t have a screen to focus on anymore. “I wanted Eric to show you, so you went into the final game tomorrow fully prepared, but he wanted me to tell you directly. That’s all. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to steal Eric from you or mess with you or anything. I was wrong when I did that. I’m sorry for following Chad’s lead and messing with your mental state earlier. I just need you to listen to me.”

Jack stared him down and Kent stared back. As much as he felt like running away and letting Eric be the one to do the talking, Jack needed to know.

Jack sighed and nodded his head and Kent smiled in relief as he opened the laptop up and began to go over the two game records side-by-side.

A cocktail server came over at some point and they ordered snacks off the late night menu since dinner had ended.

As they ate, they talked more chess, reviewing more of the matching game records and studying the moves Don had made in the last game of the match-up from ten years ago.

“There really is a lot of holes in his play,” Jack murmured.

Kent nodded and grabbed a few fries. “I think the most important thing is to let him think you’re still falling for it. He won’t even realize your laying a trap for him until it’s too late.”

“I’m bad at acting.”

Kent gave Jack a once over as he shifted awkwardly in his seat and grabbed his mug of decaf coffee to hide behind. “Well, I can help with that part, so you should just focus on the game.” Maybe there could be some actual good coming out of Kent being a commentator.

“Why are you helping me?”

Kent looked up from the tab he was switching to and saw the confusion still warring on Jack’s face. He looked away, back towards the bar where he’d joined Eric. “Don’s an asshole and not even a good chess player,” he said evenly. “I just don’t wanna see guys like him win.” It left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was easier to keep things about chess only. No need to dig into all the hurt when Jack had a game tomorrow and they’d finally talked again without fighting.

But apparently Kent didn’t get to be that lucky.

“Kent,” Jack chided.

Kent looked at him and the sincerity behind his gaze. He looked open to hearing whatever the reason may be, but fully aware the one Kent had given him was, while maybe not complete horseshit, certainly a red herring.

Kent shook his head, though.

Jack grimaced. “Is it...because of Eric?”

Kent dropped the fries in his hand. “Look,” he admitted, “I talked to him this afternoon and already showed him my whole ass and made a fool of myself. It’s obvious he loves you. I don’t stand a chance, even if I tried.”

“But you do still want him.”

Kent rolled his eyes and stared Jack down. “I want a lot of things, Jack,” he said with every ounce of conviction he had. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna get ‘em.”

Jack turned away and muttered, “I still don’t get why you’re helping me.”

Kent rolled his eyes. “Because I care about chess.”

“No,” Jack said as he turned back and, once more, demanded a real answer. “Really, Kent, why are you helping me?”

Kent swallowed and looked down. He could probably refuse once more. He could get up and go to his room and pack his bags and leave all of this behind.

But then Jack reached across the table, rested his hand on Kent’s shoulder and said one word.

“Kenny.”

“Because I didn’t back then.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them and he flinched. Eyes closed, body tense, Kent waited for the night to come to its inevitable end. The fighting would start now and they’d both say stuff they didn’t mean again and what was even the point of any of this?

Across the table, the booth creaked. Kent peeked one eye open to see it was now empty. He opened both eyes to make sure, but just as he had decided that, yes, Jack really had left him there, Jack sat down next to him, shoving him up in closer to the wall.

“Jack…”

“I never really thought about it that way,” Jack said. "That you might blame yourself.”

Kent sighed and leaned into the wall for some distance. His heart was pounding so hard, he could hear it. Jack probably could, too.

“I know it isn’t. In my head,” Kent said. “But I was supposed to be the closest person to you and I didn’t see it coming at all. Suddenly you were gone and no one was telling me anything. You changed your number and I couldn’t even get your parents to tell me anything…I was scared.”

“I stopped playing chess for a year,” Jack said in the intervening silence. “I couldn’t even look at a board without feeling sick. My parents took every single board and piece in the house and packed them up and shoved them in the attic with my awards. You were so much a part of chess that it was just easier for me to cut you out, too. And when I did start playing again, it had been so long.”

Kent looked away, studying the wall he was currently pressed up against. It was hard to keep the words he’d been thinking since then at bay. With every little bit Jack was willing to share about himself, Kent found it that much easier to pull away his own bandages. “I was still waiting,” he said, resting his forehead against the wall. “When you finally started competing again, I was still waiting. All it would’ve taken was one word.”

“And then you met Eric?”

Kent jolted and hit his head against the wall. As he rubbed the spot he hit, he turned to look at Jack in surprise. There didn’t appear to be any malice there. Not even curiosity. Just...understanding. Jack got it. Eric was pretty special, after all. He’d be smart enough to not let him go, unlike Kent. “Yeah, well…” Kent admitted with a shrug, “I’m two for two on failed relationships and I’m the only factor that doesn’t change between either of them, so…” Before he went any further, however, he shook his head and changed the topic. Voicing regrets wasn’t going to get either of them anywhere. “Anyway, I owe you a lot of apologies. I treated you like shit last year and said some pretty bad things about you to the press. And that interview yesterday? Jack, I’m so sorry. I knew those questions were bad and I could see you didn’t want to talk to me. I should’ve just told Chad no.”

Jack didn’t respond for a moment, studying him, and Kent held eye contact as best he could to make sure the man understood how serious he was. It seemed to work as Jack dropped his gaze and nodded. “Thanks.”

Kent hissed a bit in embarrassment and continued. “Also, I kinda egged Eric on today, so as much as he says otherwise, the twitter post is probably a little bit my fault. Don’t be too mad at him. He was doing it for you. Congrats on six months.”

Jack smiled. Jack smiled at him and Kent’s heart, the traitor it was, skipped a beat. Jack and Eric both. It was too easy to fall back into either of their orbits.

“I’m sorry if I made things worse between you two last year,” Jack said and Kent turned away with a cough to cover up his own confusion. It wasn’t his place to be anymore.

“No, that’s my special talent all alone right there, so don’t worry about it,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and shook his head because that smile, that skipped heartbeat, Jack’s warm arm pressed up against his? It didn’t mean anything. Not when Jack had Eric. “Anyway,” he pointed out as he shifted in his seat, “it’s getting a bit cramped…?”

Jack paused for a moment, then shifted more towards Kent. “Oh, I wanted to, uh…”

And suddenly Jack was hugging him. It was tight and awkward, with the booth and the table sandwiching them in place, but Jack was holding him. “It wasn’t your fault, Kenny,” he said into Kent’s hair. “You were a big part of why I could even go back to chess. Thank you for everything you did and were back then. I know it was a lot more than a simple thank you can cover, but…”

“I didn’t do it for a thank you. I did it because it was you.” Kent interrupted, his face already red enough, his eyes hot and stinging. Despite Jack’s crushing hold, it felt like a band had been loosened around his chest and weights flunch off his shoulders. He didn’t say the next thought, though: that even now he’d do anything he could for Jack.

Kent didn’t know what Jack took from those words, but he suddenly tightened his hold and pressed his face into Kent’s hair. “Yeah,” he admitted and Kent melted into the touch until he heard someone clear their throat just out of sight on Jack’s other side.

“Sweetpea?”

Kent’s blood ran cold.

“It’s two in the morning?”

* * *

“Today starts with the thirteenth, and what will likely be final, game of the World Chess Championship here in Bangkok, Thailand. It’s been a long and wild trip as Jack Zimmermann rose to initial prominence only to stagnate and crack under Don Cherry’s continued attacks and strong defense. We are now tied six-all and, short of a tie, one of these men is leaving the table with the title of world champion in a few short moves,” Chad introduced as Jack shook hands with Don.

Don smirked at him and Jack grit his teeth, his handshake tightening just enough to force the smirk into a wince before they dropped hands and took their seats.

Thirdy, who had once again taken up the position of arbiter in this year’s match reminded them of the rules of the match and bowed out, giving Don the option to start when he saw fit.

As expected, he sat for a moment, smiling at Jack and then used a King’s Pawn Opening.

Kent had told him to seem like he was playing into Don’s tricks. That he didn’t have to act, just lay the trap. He could trust Eric with social media and trust Kent with the press. They would keep everyone from realizing Jack had cottoned on.

Jack responded with his gambit.

All he had to do was play chess.

As Don studied the board and played his mental waiting games—they were easy to catch now that Jack wasn’t distracted—Jack looked out to their audience. At Chad and Kent talking into their microphones. Kent caught his eye and winked at him then turned back to respond to something Chad had said. Players didn’t get to hear the commentating, of course, so other than a few words here and there that were said just loud enough to make it from their booth, Jack was in the dark as to how Kent was hatching out his plan.

He looked next to Eric and Shitty. They stood with Lardo, who had flown in last night from her own competition she had placed second in. They smiled at him, Eric included, and Jack’s heart ached. He’d promised Eric last night, when he’d found him and Kent hugging in the bar, that it wasn’t what it looked like. Eric said he believed him, but he’d also put off their original discussion, the one about what they wanted out of this relationship, until after the tournament.

“It’s late and you need your sleep,” Eric had said, but Jack couldn’t help but hear defeat in it.

“Your turn, Zimmermann,” Don said and Jack turned back to the game.

Chess. He needed to focus on chess.

Ultimately, right now, nothing else mattered. The rumors, the media, Kent or Eric. None of them mattered. All that existed were the 64 squares in front of him and the 32 pieces they played with. If Eric left him, it would hurt, but that was a problem for later. If the media tore him apart, it would be nothing new, but that was a problem for later. If Kent betrayed him and rallied all of Twitter or Youtube or whatever site against him, it would be on Jack for trusting him, but that was a problem for later. If he lost his title, that was simply a part of the game and he could try again next year, but that, too, would be a problem for later.

Every single fear that his brain came up with as Don played his calculated mental war of attrition Jack recognized, admitted and set aside until, finally, the only ones that came to mind here on the board itself.

It was a very fine line between victory and defeat he was treading as he continued to build his plan and he took one more step closer when he sacrificed his queen.

He heard the gasps and the whispers around him.

He heard Kent say something about a “queen-heavy game” and “devastating blow.”

He saw Don smirk at having put him in check.

“Don’t worry, Zimmermann,” he said as he leaned back into his chair, “Not everyone’s cut out to be champion.”

Jack looked out at the audience and their shocked faces. A few of them looked defeated while others looked proud. He could practically see the dollar signs in some of them. Every single one of them had their own view of him. They thought he was a cheat or mentally weak. They thought he was lost, frozen with his own inability to decide which move would be best to make or if he should just give up all together. His own hubris and issues in his personal life had led to his professional decline.

But none of them knew him.

He looked to Eric one last time. Eric nodded and Jack grinned.

“Realizing the futility of the fight?” Don asked and Jack chuckled and shook his head.

He checked the board one last time. “You’re right,” he said as he took out Don’s threatening bishop with his own knight. “Not everyone is cut out to be champion. Check.”

Don’s face paled as he looked down at the board. He slammed his hands against the table on either side of it and glared up at Jack. He moved his king out of check as the only move he could safely make.

Jack smirked and moved his pawn out of danger of the white rook and one step closer to the eight rank.

“You!” Don shouted.

“Mindgames are to give you an edge when you’re your opponent’s equal,” Jack said. “Not what you should build your entire game off of.”

There was a reverent whisper of, “Holy shit,” that had to be Shitty.

“This whole time?” Don growled as he moved his queen in place to take out the pawn on his next turn.

It was exactly what Jack had been waiting for. He didn’t need his queen to win this game. All that mattered was moving Don’s out of the way. He moved his second knight into position. Where once Don’s queen would have taken it out, now there was no risk whatsoever.

The crowd, mostly silent to this point, let out a great roar.

“Checkmate.”

* * *

“Oh honey, you did so well. I’m so proud of you!” Eric said as he went up to Jack after his final interview with a shocked Chad and proud Kent. There would be other media representatives with questions next, but, for now, Eric could at least congratulate him.

Jack tugged them out of the way of most people’s attention and leaned down to kiss him over and over again.

“Jack!” Eric said between each kiss. “People can see.”

“Let them,” he replied but buried his face in Eric’s hair and held him close, instead. “You were right. It’s stupid to hide everything so people can’t see when it means I don’t get to be with the person I love the way I want to.”

It would be too easy to fall into, which was why Eric was so quick to push Jack away when he went for another kiss. “I thought you made up with Kent,” Eric said as a reminder. He looked out into the room where Kent was talking with a few others.

“I did,” Jack admitted as he turned Kent’s direction, as well. “Or, at least, we started.” He huffed and shook his head. “I never really thought about what it might look like from his side—back then. I only ever saw what I thought was happening from my end.” Yet for all those words, Jack still kept his hands on Eric’s arms. Even if he didn’t try to pull him back in again, he didn’t let him go.

“It happened again, with you,” he said then as he turned back to Eric, regret streaked across his eyes and pain tucked into each line in his brow. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you left me for it.” He gave a sad little half-smile. “It looks like you made up with Kent, too.”

“We started, at least,” Eric said with a shrug, repeating Jack’s sentiment. The answers probably weren’t what either wanted to hear, but with everything that had happened in the past year, they both knew it was time for a talk and a lot of honesty.

“Eric, I love you,” Jack was the first to say, “and I never want to lose you.”

Eric let out a sigh of relief and immediately leaned back in to rest his forehead on Jack’s chest. “Me, too, sweetpea. I was so scared after last night…”

Jack grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

But when he didn’t explain anymore, Eric got the idea he was apologizing for more than just a hug. He looked up at Jack, demanding his attention. “I believe you when you say you love me,” he affirmed. “But, Jack. How do you feel about Kent?”

Jack balked. “I…”

“Because I did love him and things ended badly for us,” Eric continued when Jack seemed unable to. His hands shook, his voice shook, but, right now, the truth was what they both needed and deserved. He twisted his fingers into Jack’s sport coat. “But if things stay the way they were last night, if he really has changed that part of himself, then I think I could love him again. Both of you are too easy to get wrapped up in.”

Jack looked away and Eric followed his line of sight to where Kent stood, staring back at them. While there was plenty happening in the room that people likely weren’t paying him too close of attention, anyone who knew him the way Eric or Jack knew him could see the want and the hurt plain as day. Jack sighed in surrender. “I wasn’t thinking of you at all when I had him in my arms.”

Eric wasn’t surprised.

“I can tell him it won’t work,” Jack continued. “We can’t be friends. It’s been too long.”

“Oh, honey, don’t lie,” Eric chastised. “Not to yourself and not to me and not to him.”

“If it comes down to you or him, I won’t leave you,” Jack pressed.

His grip began to tighten, possessive in a way that Eric knew risked becoming suffocating. “Jack,” he said with a gentle touch, a reminder to pay attention to his hold, “you’re getting too stuck on this either-or. We’re not pieces you have to choose to sacrifice to protect yourself.”

Jack loosened his grip on Eric, but not on his argument. “But…”

“There’s a lot of history with Kent on both our sides,” Eric continued, “but maybe once we get to speak with him a bit more we’ll find out it’ll only ever stay as history.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

The words were soft and tenuous, carrying all of the fears and concerns and anxieties Jack had been harboring for at least the past twenty-four hours, if not longer.

Eric smiled fondly at him. “Then we take a step back together and we look at the board,” he said. “We can decide what move is best to make then.”

Jack frowned. “I thought you said there wouldn’t be a sacrifice?”

“There’s always promotion,” Eric pointed out. “A pawn can just as easily become a second queen or a third knight if you work the board right.”

Jack laughed, once, his face lighting up in surprise. He sent a questioning look at Eric, to which Eric smiled playfully in response before they both turned to look at Kent, waiting until they caught his gaze again and then smiling at him until he smiled back, raising his hand in a shy wave that left Eric’s heart fit to burst.

“Okay,” Jack agreed, sounding a lot more hopefully than he had in months. “When the time comes, we’ll figure out our next moves together. All three of us.”


	5. Epilogue

“Ugh, I give,” Kent bemoaned as he shoved the chessboard away and stood up. “You’re getting dangerous,” he added as he stretched, his words turning into a groan and a yawn before he shook the physical and mental exhaustion of the game off.

Jack grinned and began to reset the board. “I should hope so with the World Champion Goodwill Match coming up.”

Rather than sit back down for another round, Kent reached above the table to turn off the camera there connected to his laptop. “C’mon, man,” he said. “You know Eric’ll never let us hear the end of it if we’re still playing when he brings dinner out. Put that away for tonight. We’ll look at what we played and worked out today after dinner.”

Jack sighed and took the pieces he’d been putting back in place and began sticking them in their box.

“And I still think a King’s Indian Defence would be a good way to throw her off,” Kent added as he set out the placemats and settings once Jack tucked the board aside.

Jack groaned and shook his head. “It’s my biggest weakness and she knows it. I don’t want my success with this match to hinge on a weakness. Lardo knows my chess better than anyone and now she’s Women’s World Champion. She’s the dangerous one.”

“Jack’s right,” Eric said as he walked into the dining room with a bowl of roasted vegetables and a plate of baked sweet potatoes. “I won’t even play Lardo for fun anymore. She’s terrifying to sit across a board from.”

“Okay, but, sweetpea,” Kent said, using Eric’s pet name for them like he always did when he was in a teasing mood, “You’re scared to sit across from some six-year olds.”

Eric stuck his tongue out at Kent and set the dishes down on the table while Jack disappeared into the kitchen to grab their glasses.

“Children are terrifying whether they’re playing chess or not,” he argued.

Kent snorted. “You love children; don’t lie.”

“Cute,” Eric admitted, “but terrifying.”

“And yet he’s the one that brought up adoption,” Jack added as he returned to the room with three glasses and a swing top bottle of water.

Kent snickered and Eric flushed. “Y’all are just picking on me now,” he grumbled as he stepped back into the kitchen for the chicken thighs and pilaf. “It’s not like I even meant right now," he continued, the words appearing more and more to be to himself rather than his audience. "Just...someday.”

Kent followed behind him, trapping him against the corner and leaning down to press a kiss against his bare neck. “We know,” he whispered his promise. “And we’ll get there in a few years.” He grabbed the dishes out of Eric’s hands and walked them out to the table.

“Still,” he admitted, returning to the original topic, “she’s barely been on the circuit for two years and has already attained the title of Women’s World Champion. That’s pretty insane.”

“I knew she’d climb the ranks fast as soon as she started competing seriously,” Jack disagreed. “She probably could’ve gone pro a few years earlier.”

“Well, the timing ended up working pretty well,” Kent said with a shrug as he sat down in his usual seat, across from Jack.

“It could’ve been better,” Eric disagreed as he took his seat at the head of the table. “I’d rather not have had to play temporary second for those few months.”

“Awww, but babe, you were always such a good one,” Kent bemoaned.

“You’re the reason why I learned not to mix business with pleasure, Mister Parson,” Eric said with a pointed look.

Jack snickered.

“I don’t get how you two do it, on the other hand.”

Kent grinned at Jack because this was not the first time Eric had made that comment and he got the same answer every time.

“Pretty easily,” they said in tandem and Eric rolled his eyes and took a bite of his meal.

“Anyway, don’t forget to finish packing tonight and get to bed at a decent hour. We leave for the airport at 4am,” Eric said as a reminder once dinner was drawing to a close and Jack’s attention was drifting back to his chessboard.

“Already done,” Jack confirmed and Kent did not doubt it. Kent, on the other hand, hadn’t even started. As the silence stretched out after Jack’s confirmation, Kent gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“Oops?”

“I swear, Kent Parson,” Eric said with a shake of his head and a sigh, “You are incorrigible. Go pack right now. I’ll get the computer set up. You were going to review the footage from this afternoon, right?”

“Thanks, Eric. You’re a lifesaver.” Kent ran out of the room with his dishes. There was a clatter as he dropped them into the sink, but before he left for his room he stepped back out into the dining room and watched as Jack and Eric began to clear the rest of the dishes on the table.

Eric turned and saw him standing there and shooed him down the hall, but Kent only moved in closer. “Thanks for dinner, babe,” he said as he wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist. “It was delicious.” He leaned in for a kiss then left for the master bedroom and his empty suitcase and full drawers.

As he packed, he heard clatters in the kitchen and the dishwasher starting up. He heard the low rumble of Jack’s voice and Eric’s laughter. Kent grabbed his travel toothbrush and razor out of the bathroom and tucked those in next to the week’s worth of clothing he would be bringing and zipped the suitcase shut, setting it next to Jack’s carefully stacked bags. He grabbed Eric’s empty suitcase out of the closet and threw it onto the bed for him to work on while he and Jack worked in the living room. Because of course Eric was reminding them to pack when he hadn’t started, either.

Kent laughed to himself then walked back down the hall into the living area only to find Eric and Jack with their heads bent over a chessboard.

“Really gonna betray me like this, huh?” he asked as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You were taking so long!” Eric whined then smiled at him and shifted out of the way just enough to show the hexagonal board. “Don’t worry, it’s three-person chess.”

Jack smiled up at him from the table, despite the way his brow was already furrowed in concentration. “Come join us, Kenny.”

Kent shoved himself off from the wall, trying to act as lackadaisical as possible as he sauntered over to the table and took the empty place in front of the red pieces. “You haven’t even packed yet,” he reminded Eric as he passed behind him. “I pulled out your suitcase.”

“Thank you, sweetheart! That’s so kind of you,” Eric said in an unnaturally bright voice as Kent stopped behind Jack to lean down and give him a kiss, as well. The tone continued as he pushed Kent’s chair out with his foot and stared him down. “Now hurry up and sit down so I can start.”

Kent laughed and shook his head, but obeyed. Eric might tease them about their chess obsession, but he was just as bad. With all three players now at the table, Eric opened with moving his queen’s pawn out. Kent jumped straight onto the board with his king’s knight. Jack jumped out two spaces with his king’s pawn, bringing the game back around to Eric again. All three were on the board now and they had nothing but time to figure out the next best moves to make.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the AU Bang mods, Anna, Raven and Mars, for running this wonderful event!  
> Another big thanks to my AMAZING artist, Karin. You'll see her piece in Act 1. It's an ENTIRE COMIC!!!!  
> More gratitude to my beta reader, Kylie, who I got to bug literally the day this was due to beta read the rest of the fic as I was writing it. You deserve so much more than words for dealing with my procrastination.
> 
> And, finally, thank you to Ngozi Ukazu for giving us these wonderful characters to play with! And Tim Rice for the musical and dynamics he developed for Chess.


End file.
